Midnight Skies
by lilabut
Summary: not continued
1. part 1

After not being able to continue the work on this story with my old Beta, I deleted the first chapter. I now started over with PTB and here is the first chapter again, changed here and there. The second one should be up very soon.

I hope you are still with me on this and since summer break starts in a week, you can be sure of a lot of updates.

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1.

A hefty pain suddenly rushed through my left index finger, harshly and mercilessly, as my heartbeat pounded in the tip of my finger. The stapler had missed the pile of paper on my overflowing desk and instead had drilled through my skin.

The rush of profanities that escaped my mouth earned me slightly disgusted gazes from a group of four middle-aged women passing by my desk, wearing more make-up on their faces than our latest magazine spread offered. Their blonde hair varied in styles from a sleek ponytail, a fancy up-do (which, in fact, I envied a little since I could never manage to do anything remotely similar to her style with my own hair), chin-length, flawless cork screw curls to a long, wavy mane that reached the woman's lower back. Each of them wore bright-purple blazers and as they watched me, their noses wrinkled, I forced a shallow, welcoming smile onto my face. My entire hand now pounded with pain I could feel damp blood oozing out of the tiny stitch.

None of the women responded to my smile, but after working here for so long I was no longer affected by that. Quite frankly, I did not know why I still bothered with gestures of politeness in this place. No one took notice, anyway.

With a _whoosh_, I released a breath I had not realized I had been holding. I sighed as I looked down at my finger, trying to ignore the pain as I rummaged through my drawer for a tissue. Careful not to smear the papers with droplets of my blood, I wrapped the tissue around my finger, the metallic scent of the fluid finally reaching my nostrils, making me feel nauseous and uncomfortable. Trying hard to suppress the usual nausea I switched from breathing through my nose to my mouth and wiped away the remaining blood, throwing the tissue into my trash can.

Examining my finger one last time (although nothing was really visible apart from a dark red film that clung to the edges of my raw skin – years of biting my nails leaving their trail behind) I tried to focus on my task, realigning the pile of papers and setting the stapler in the right place. I checked four times whether my fingers were a safe distance away before pushing down on the ancient piece of heavy metal with all of my strength, almost lying my chest flat on my desk. The sound of crushed paper sent chills down my spine and I winced as a new flash of pain rushed through my finger.

"I never knew handling a stapler was so exhausting," a high-pitched, oily voice casually said behind me, curiosity in this voice I detested so much.

"Hey, Jessica," I responded lazily, straightening in my plastic excuse of a chair. Even before I could turn around to face her she popped into my field of vision, the pungent scent of fresh nail-polish mixed with too much perfume lingering in the air, making my eyes water as they were faced with a bright-pink, silk blouse.

Jessica Stanley. Without a doubt the leading lady in every inappropriate dream each man in this office had ever had. Slim, curvy, always wearing slightly too much of everything from make-up to jewellery (yet never seeming to wear enough clothes to cover her perfectly tanned skin), her heels practically screwed onto her feet and her white-toothed smile as fake as the diamond ring shining on her left hand.

And worst of all: she was my boss. Well, technically she was not. I was working for a magazine for women and she was the editor-in-chief's assistant. I, on the other hand, was Jessica's assistant. The job on its own seemed like a punishment from hell – but having Jessica Stanley as my superior only decreased my own self-esteem and boosted hers into flagitious heights.

She wasn't a bad person, only fake and shallow, and she enjoyed power more than any other person I knew.

"Bella? Are you even listening to me?" her shrill voice ripped me out of my trance and I blushed as I realized that I had been staring at her face with my mouth hanging open while she had been blabbering.

"Sorry, what did you say?"

"You really need to pull yourself together. Sometimes I'm a little worried you'll just fall asleep all of a sudden," she went on as if nothing had interrupted her stream of words, her eyes now focused on her outstretched hand-without a doubt trying to pull my focus onto the ring sparkling there proudly.

"Why is that?"

"You always seem so absent. Anyways, the cafeteria has those baguettes with pesto and tomatoes today. You know I love them, and they're always gone before I make it down there. I'm practically drowning in all the work. So, would you mind getting down there before my lunch break and getting me one? You're quicker on your feet," she said matter-of-factly. I did not miss the slightly disgusted glance she shot at the black ballerina flats which stood abandoned underneath my desk while my bare feet dangled in the air, my calves every now and then nudging against my trash can.

I knew I couldn't refuse, although I had planned to skip my own lunch break to do some of the useless work Jessica had assigned me.

"Sure. Is there anything else you would like from the cafeteria?"

Jessica pouted, something she always did whenever she pretended to be deep in thought.

"A coffee would be great. But with soy milk, remember."

"Sure, no problem," I said submissively. With a shallow "_Thanks_" and a big grin on her face Jessica, retreated, the steady _click click_ of her heals matching the rhythm of the pain pounding in my finger.

I eyed the massive stack of documents that were still piled on my desk- all of which needed to be ordered and filed this afternoon- and I knew that skipping my lunch break would be inevitable

Technically, my job was not that bad. The salary was decent considering the ridiculous work I had to do. But I was in my mid-twenties and I was starting to become desperate, to question myself, dreading about a future in which I was still sitting here at this table, my burning feet hovering above their leather prison, my fingers wrapped in band-aids because of yet another work accident due to my clumsiness, and bored to death by the monotonous, almost factory-like tasks: filing, ordering, copying, getting coffee. I felt like an eternal intern and was starting to fear for my future.

I had never been overly excited about what might become of me. But now that three years had passed since I had gotten this job, I was starting to be afraid of being stuck here forever. From where I was at the moment, there was no progress, and yet, I could not just make a run for it. I needed this job and the money.

However, I had reached a point in life where the money suddenly started to become slightly irrelevant. Each one of my friends seemed to be absolutely content with what they had and what they were doing. And although I knew that, in all likelihood, they too were putting up a facade, I could not help but envy them and feel like all the money and security were not worth giving up my dreams.

Who knew what might happen? Maybe I would trip over my own feet while getting Jessica's lunch, fall down the stairs and break my neck. And then what? I had all that money saved from a job that strained and bored me and definitely made me.

I had always admired people like my mother, people who could just go and live their lives without worrying about the consequences, or where they would end up tomorrow, or how they would afford food or a place to sleep.

More than anything, I wished I could be at least a little more like that. But I just couldn't. I received a decent salary each month, had a small, cozy apartment, my insurance and a strict schedule each day – no room for surprises or drastic changes.

But I couldn't help thinking that safety was starting to suck the air out of my lungs.

All the things I really wanted to do, my wishes and fantasies, small desires that remained unfulfilled, started to create an increasing bubble inside of me and it threatened to burst. It felt like my life was starting to become more and more similar to the growing piles of paper on my desk. There was nothing to balance the dull disappointment I felt every morning when I woke up and every night when I fell into my bed, exhausted and drained.

Although there was nobody in my life to ask, I sometimes wondered how I would respond if someone asked when I had last been happy.

I couldn't remember.

It wasn't that I was _un_happy, but my disappointment and dissatisfaction caused a bitterness inside of my weary mind that almost made me feel truly unhappy. A little more time in this cage and I would inevitably reach that level of mind.

I had become a machine, my hands and eyes performing their dull and shallow work while my mind sunk deeper and deeper into the misery I had created for myself. My routine was only occasionally interrupted by a stapler drilling into my skin, letting me feel actual pain and cursing myself for not being satisfied with what life granted me, for being so whiny instead of standing up, leaving this office and never coming back.

I knew that would never happen, though.


	2. part 2

Here it is, and please, after reading this, read my author´s note at the bottom.

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2.

Five hours later I stood in front of my best friend's door, drenched from head to toe since the sudden rain had surprised me. I was shivering like a small child that just spent an hour in a swimming pool, lips blue, skin puffy and pale.

Speaking of children – the cheerful, carefree laughter of children welcomed me as Angela opened the door. Her back faced me as she yelled something through her entire house, sighing as it had no effect.

With her warm trademark smile she hugged me, ignoring the fact that I was cold, wet and dripping onto the hardwood floor of her hallway.

"You know, I should get you a real fancy umbrella for your birthday," Angela joked, almost brutally ripping my bag from my shoulder and carelessly dropping it on the floor. It landed next to four colourful backpacks, which very obviously did not belong to Angela's personal collection of _fancy_ handbags.

"Sorry, am I too early? You're still working," I said, feeling a twinge of guilt creeping up inside of me. My shivering fingers tried to peel my trench coat from my shoulders while my chin pointed down towards the bags.

"Oh, that's no problem, Bella. They'll be picked up any minute. Come in, I'd like you to meet them."

I felt a little uneasy as Angela led me through her house (by far the most cozy and warm place I had ever seen from the inside), chattering about these parents always being later than the others.

Hearing Angela talk about _her_ children, as she liked to put it, was almost magical. She had so much adoration for them that it seemed they really were her own. And from what I had heard and given I knew what kind of a loving person Angela was, the children must love her just like a parent.

Being a nanny had been Angela's dream job ever since I met her in high school. Children were what made Angela happy and content and she always had that glow in her eyes whenever she was around them. However, an accident shortly before I met her had made it impossible for Angela to have children herself which had lately become a problem between her and her husband Ben. Being a nanny and having the children around her all day partly outweighed Angela's desire to be a mother herself, it was a momentarily substitute but it also made her craving for own children deeper. Adoption had been an all-present argument in their marriage for a while now. Ben was hesitant and Angela had admitted that she thought he was afraid. But even the thought of Ben leaving his beloved Angela was such a paradox that it was sure to shatter my world and my notions should it ever really happen. They had always been together. It was never _Angela_ or _Ben_ – always _Angela and Ben_

I had never been good with children, always clumsy and uneasy, almost uncomfortable. Afraid to do something wrong, to scare them or hurt them accidentally. Yet, Angela always tried to reassure me that I would be a great mother. I tried to make myself believe she only said that because she wanted to see me happy, but her concept of happiness did not exist without at least one child around.

"Hey, kids. I'd like you to meet Bella. She's a really good friend of mine, so be nice," Angela said with a huge smile and a playful wink as we entered the huge living room. It was stuffed with more toys than furniture that it reminded me of the play area in IKEA every time I came here. Old memories of my mother parking me there for hours while she bought dozens of wildly patterned knick knacks flashed through my mind.

The four children – two boys and two girls – greeted me with expressions of curiosity and suspicion only children could muster. They quickly refocused on the big white paper on the floor. Countless bowls with paint in all colours scattered across the living room, all furniture covered with white linen blankets to protect them from the wildness of a child's imagination.

"It's this month's masterpiece," Angela explained full of pride, waving towards the bright painting on the floor. It was a mixture of swirls and flowers, houses and suns, lawns and oceans, people and animals, indefinable objects, simple lines and dots, circles or just splashes of paint.

Angela eagerly pulled me closer towards the "artists" and the proud smile on her face made my heart melt. Seeing her this happy always reminded me of how horribly bitter she had been after that fatal car crash – the change in her life, the optimism, the way she actually turned her bitterness into utter happiness making me doubt my own self-pity.

"This is Carla," Angela introduced me to a blonde girl around seven. Her pale face was sprinkled with freckles and her blue eyes were so possessively fixed on the brush between her tiny fingers that the scary thought of a horror movie crept up inside my head, those eyes boring into my brain and I was thankful when Angela continued to speak.

"This is Henry."

The red-haired boy could not be older than three years, although his size seemed younger, coordination and body control rather amusing to look at. He deftly smashed the brush over the paper in mad circles, the pink paint smearing across carefully drawn flowers.

"Hey, Henry, stay in your corner of the paper," Carla's high-pitched, commanding voice stopping him in his tracks. He mumbled a short excuse before dropping his head sadly and half-heartedly pressing dots into what appeared to be _his corner of the paper_.

I felt a motherly swell of pity in my heart as I watched his tiny face, his green eyes glistering with suppressed tears and I quickly turned my head to Angela. Too late, apparently since she gave me a knowing wink before continuing her introduction round, leaving Henry to cope with his guilt on his own.

"Carla, don't be so harsh to him. You're right, but tell him that politely," Angela told Carla with authority in her voice before she continued to introduce me to the children. "These are Isla and Finley. They're twins."

"That means we should look the same. But I am a boy and Isla is a girl. So we don't," the little boy said full of pride, his arm swaying full of enthusiasm which resulted in a smear of lime green paint on his nose. His skin, just like his sister's, was a light russet-color, their hair pitch-black and their eyes a creamy mix between dark-green and chocolate brown.

"That's why we both have long hair," Finley added, pointing towards himself in agreement while his sister shook her head at him, focusing her attention on a big orange heart she was currently painting.

I smiled at the boy, not much older than four years and eyed his part of the masterpiece: a lime green-coloured house with garden, fence and chimney (which was rather askew, almost making my fingers twitch with the need to straighten it with a little bit of paint).

"Do you have a twin?" Finley asked with curiosity shining in his eyes like a second sun, his fists jumping up and down on his thighs impatiently. The brush splattered some paint onto the paper in the process.

"Oh, no I don't. I don't have any brothers or sisters," I answered, confused by the sudden and foreign feeling of sadness that overcame me at these words.

"Oh… why?"

Both Angela and I started to laugh quietly and it amazed me what kind of silly questions a child could ask – questions that weren't so silly when you left behind your inner adult.

"You know, Finley. Bella's parents don't live together anymore, just like yours. That is why she has no brothers or sisters," Angela explained carefully and I suddenly felt very thankful that she had taken over with the answer.

"Oh…," Finley murmured before his eyes met the brush in his fingers and he suddenly seemed to remember what he had been doing all this time and resumed his genius architectural work.

Before the bitterness could overcome me that there were other children out there who were just like me, who did not know what a real family was like, a ring on the door pulled me back into the cozy living room.

"I'll go check the door," Angela said before she quickly left the room, all four children sitting up straight, ears perked up. The picture was hilarious.

"Carla!" Angela's voice sounded from the hallway and with a bright grin the girl dropped her brush, climbed out of her apron and left the room with an overly excited wave towards the other kids which resembled the Queen's sophisticated wave.

A few minutes passed in which I awkwardly stood next to the children painting full of enthusiasm by my feet and I tried to eye their masterpiece with excitement. I was distracted, though, by Finley, the tiny little boy seemed to stare at me whenever he thought I was not watching, curiosity still beaming from his eyes and a warmth that resembled the one I always felt in this house.

"Sorry, it took a little longer than expected," Angela excused herself as she stepped back into the room. "We had to change the schedule for next week."

I waved my hand indicating that it was no problem and watched Angela as she cleaned Carla's abandoned apron with a tissue before hanging it up on a ladybug-shaped coat hook at the wall.

"Want some tea?" Angela asked softly, not even waiting for my responsive nod before dragging me into the kitchen. I slowly sank into one of her many chairs (none of them matched) and watched her as she rummaged in her cabinets.

"So, how is everything going?"

I sighed silently, my hope to avoid these stereotype questions crushed.

"Well, the usual. Jessica thinks I'm her maid and all I do is filing. But other than that… there was a fire in my neighbours apartment, did I tell you that?"

"What? No, you didn't! What happened?"

And so my goal was reached. It was my usual strategy. Deep down every single person on this planet is lusting for news sensations and it was the perfect distraction.

Sipping my too-hot strawberry-vanilla tea I repeated what I had told what felt like a million times. How the microwave had failed and ignited a small fire which, sadly, had crossed paths with the bag of groceries which also carried a hairspray and from then on the fire went out of control. Unfortunately, the story was not nearly half as dramatic as I wished it was and so it was quickly told, while Angela stirred her tea thoughtfully with a spoon, listening attentively.

"I'm so afraid of a fire in here…," she said more to herself than to me and her eyes stared ahead, straight over my shoulder into nothingness.

I knew this expression. Sometimes, on very rare occasions, the old Angela would break through the surface of the content life she had built up in the last years.

But before I could reach my hand across the table and place it upon hers, a heavy coughing sound from the living room stirred Angela out of her trance; however, the expression of weariness had been replaced by pure panic.

"Oh, no!"

She jumped to her feet, almost knocking her cup off the table and was out of the kitchen in such haste that I barely had time to fully comprehend that she was gone.

I got up confused and stepped back into the living room – the sight momentarily knocking the breath out of me.

Little Henry sat there, his face full of panic, his tiny hands grasping onto thin air as he coughed and desperately tried to get the much-needed air into his lungs. What struck me the most was that Angela was nowhere to be seen.

Feeling the adrenaline rush through my every vein I rushed towards the big paper, Finley and Isla grasping onto Henry's clothes, tapping onto his back, talking to him – helpless.

My knees hit the ground hard as I let myself fall in front of Henry, taking his hands into mine.

"What happened?" I asked, trying to ban the hysteria out of my panic-stricken and helpless voice.

"Nothing, he just started coughing," Isla said, her tiny hand drawing circles on Henry's back.

I tried to gather my nerves and did the first thing that came into my mind. Carefully I grabbed Henry underneath his shoulders and pulled his crouched figure straight, letting his arms dangle my his sides.

"Sshh… Henry. I want you listen to my breath, okay? Try to do it like me," I tried to reassure him, my own voice breaking after every word, downright fear flooding through me.

As I placed my hand gently on his chest, a look of concentration appeared on Henry's face and I knew that he tried to imitate me. Carefully I took his hand in mine and placed it on my own chest, letting him feel the rise and fall of every breath, fighting to keep it calm and steady.

In this second Angela came rushing into the room but before I could open my mouth to say anything she was beside me, holding a spray in her hands and I immediately understood, my immediate panic that Henry had swallowed something momentarily eased, however still not overcome as Angela carefully put the spray into Henry's mouth.

"Henry, sweetheart. Try to take a real deep breath, okay? Just like Bella. Try to breathe like her."

Angela's pure panic from earlier was gone, at least on the surface she acted calm and controlled. That, however, did not last long. After a few intakes of breath, the whooshing sound of the spray started to fade off into silence.

"It´s empty…," Angela whispered, no more panic but nothing but agony and fear in her voice, her eyes wide and I could see her brain working inside of her head.

Within a splint second she had Henry cradled in her arms and stood, the spray still in her hand.

"They're fixing the phone line. I can't make a call right now. But there is a doctor just down the street. Could you look after them while I'm gone and… you know… his mother…," Angela rushed her hands that held Henry awkwardly waving in multiple directions.

"Sure, go!" I urged her on, opening the front door for her as she stumbled down the steps, Henry coughing for his dear life in her arms and panic tears gathered in my eyes as I watched Angela run as fast as she could with the child clinging to her.

I had to remind myself of my own breathing as I closed the door and slowly went back to the living room, the slowly retreating adrenaline leaving a jelly-like feeling in my legs and the dull pain in my knees where they had hit the floor started to send signals to my brain.

Finley and Isla were still sitting in their former places, both looking down to their hands in their laps, their fingers nervously intertwining and loosening again.

"Hey…," I whispered and carefully kneeled next to them, ignoring the sting underneath the fabric of my pants.

They both looked up, their faces full of guilt and fear.

"Hey, it's okay. It wasn't your fault. He is sick. That could have happened anytime," I tried to reassure them, offering a weak smile.

Finley sighed and finally nodded again in agreement, clapping his tiny hand onto his sister's shoulder.

"He needs a doctor," he said wisely and I nodded, adoring the sunny smile that spread across his face in response to my confirmation of his words.

"So, we could not help?" Isla asked shyly, her russet skin blushing slightly as she looked at me, almost a little afraid. I understood that this was a very inappropriate situation given these two did not know me at all. Wrong. There should – must – have been a different solution.

"No, you could not. It's okay. We could not help him, either. Only the doctor can," I explained, hoping to decrease their guilt.

"How come you're not a doctor?" Finley asked, his voice once again downright honest and curious, deadly serious.

"Well, not everybody can be a doctor."

"Why not? Then everybody could help everybody."

"Well, yes. But you said yourself that you are not like your sister, right?" I asked, my brain trying to find a proper explanation. Finley nodded in understanding and shot a curious glance at his sister, who was still watching her fingers but obviously heard what I said.

"Everyone is different and likes to do different things – some people want to be doctors, other people don't."

I could practically see the wheels turning behind Finley's forehead and it amused me to see him thinking that hard. Then, finally, I got what I had been waiting for: a hefty nod.

"What is your job?"

I laughed and answered in the same breath.

"I make copies. All day long."

The confusion on Finley's face was hilarious, his brows rumpled together and his eyes deep in thought.

"That's funny," he finally said.

"You're pretty," he added, his face quieter this time and the faint blush that tinted his cheeks was heart-warming.

I snorted playfully, theatrically declaring how thankful I was for this compliment and when I called him _Sir_ his chest literally burst with pride and his posture suddenly became a lot straighter.

Even Isla smiled now, her shyness slowly ebbing away as she laughed at her brother, nibbling on the inside of her cheek which made her adorable face look much more mature and in a way I felt pity – that children eventually had to grow up.

The doorbell rang shrilly and the bright smiles on the children's faces were priceless. They were up on their feet and at the door quicker than I could even heave myself onto my feet, the itching pain in my knee indicating a burn wound from the fall.

Finley – still in his gentleman posture – proudly opened the door just as I entered the hallway, jumping up and down as he saw the man standing there on the threshold.

"Daddy!" both he and Isla cried full of joy, jumping at their father, wrapping themselves around him until he was barely visible, devoured by those two cookie monsters.

I could not help but smile at the sight, the love radiating from the image almost too much to bear, too far out of reach for myself.

The man in the doorframe was around my age, I guessed. That surprised me a little. Somehow young parents were alien to me, me always trying to picture myself in their place and the last thing I could image were children with me. _My_ children.

He was tall, inhumanly tall, which made the picture in front of me even more queer. His children being so tiny and him such a giant, holding them against him. Looking at him it was quite obvious where Finley and Isla had their skin tone and hair color from – his were identical. His chin-length black hair shimmered in the dim sunlight that escaped the clouds outside now that the outburst of rain had passed and for a splint second the hope for a rainbow flickered in my head. But when the man standing there a few feet away from me looked up from his children and straight into my eyes all ideas of rainbows and bad weather were forgotten. His eyes were black, or at least they seemed to be from my position (they might as well have been a very dark brown) but what struck me more was the expression in them – the purely vicious suspicion punching me in the face, radiating through the entire room, leaving me feeling as unpleasant as I had been in the ice-cold downpour.

It was the kind of expression no child could ever muster up. Something only age and maturity allowed. No curiosity. Only suspicion, prejudices and accusations.

"Who are you?" he asked, obviously trying very hard to keep his voice calm and polite.

"My name is Isabella Swan. I'm a good friend of Angela's," I explained, hoping to escape the rage that parents could conjure when it came to their children's safety.

"And where is Angela, if I may ask?"

"I came over for tea and one of the kids – Henry – had an asthma attack and Angela took him to the doctor down the street. Not ten minutes ago," I said calmly, trying to keep my eyes fixed onto his which seemed more and more difficult. The furiousness and rage in his eyes, suppressed by his good behaviour and care for his children, was the most intimidating look I had ever seen. Not even my boss Victoria with her fiery red hair, ironically-sharp cheekbones and high-pitched, lethal voice could make me want to disappear as much as this man just did.

A sudden flood of guilt washed over me – guilt I should not be feeling at all.

"So, she left my children here alone… with you?" he asked, inconspicuously pulling his children slightly behind his legs, as if to cover and protect them. The way emphasised _you_ stabbed my chest, making me feel like the most horrible and contemptible person in the world.

"I was here and she was quicker without having to take them with her."

"Finn, Isla. You go take off the aprons and hang them up properly, okay?" the stranger said to his children with a fake smile on his face – yet a very honest shine of affection in his eyes that he could not hide – and patted his son on the head as his children jumped back into the living room.

"Let me get this straight. Angela left my children here alone with a stranger?"

He tried real very to maintain a decent and mature level of conversation and I had the uneasy feeling that the only reason he had not called the police or literally slaughtered me already was his trust in Angela – a trust that now seemed shattered.

"Listen, sir. I understand that this is inappropriate and that you are worried. I really understand. But it was an emergency. She had to act quickly, that boy was close to suffocating, and taking Finley and Isla with her would have cost her precious time. So please, can you try to understand her actions? You know she would not do so easily. She is a very responsible person, and I really don't want you to mistrust her now that she may have acted out of line once," I declared, fighting the urge to shrink into myself under the pressure of this man's intimidating gaze.

The children's laughter was audible from the living room and I caught their father's eyes quickly glancing into their direction before his eyes fixed back on mine.

"What was your name again, Miss?"

"Isabella Swan."

I swallowed, hard.

"This is inexcusable behaviour. Don't take this personally, Miss Swan. I don't know you and I won't judge you, but I can't excuse Angela simply leaving my children with strangers. You said she was at a doctor just down the street?"

"Listen, Mr…"

"Black," he finished for me.

"Mr. Black. Just because this happened once due to an emergency I think it would be very unfair towards Angela to punish her for that. She is such a responsible person. I wouldn't want her to have to carry the consequences for such an incident."

"You don't seem to understand, Miss Swan. These are my children and I placed them here because I thought they would be well taken care of. And up until now I thought Angela was doing just that. But this one incident proves to me that the trust I have in her might not be as justified as I thought it was."

"Excuse me, sir. This is clearly unfair of you. I understand that you mistrust me and that your children being here with me is a problem for you. I do understand. But don't blame Angela for something she carries no guilt or responsibility for. As far as I know her working hours ended almost an hour ago. If you had picked up your children in time there would have been no need for Angela to find a substitute. So don´t –"

„Are you trying to blame me, here?"

Guilt washed over me because I knew that I had no right to judge this man who surely was a great father – but this intimidating stare made me weaker and weaker and for once in my life I considered it appropriate to stand up – not only for me but for Angela, as well.

"I'm not blaming anyone here, Mr. Black. I just think that you have no right to blame Angela for this. I only know this entire situation could have been prevented."

I could see his Adam's apple bob as he swallowed, very obviously caging his rage inside of him but his eyes indicated a very different emotion – one that made me feel even worse.

Hurt.

"You don´t know anything," he muttered with venom in his voice as Finley and Isla came jumping back into the hallway and grabbed their coats.

I stood there awkwardly and watched Mr. Black helping his children into their coats, carefully wrapping them up in their scarves and caps, playfully putting their backpacks onto their backs, kissing both of them on the head before he gently pushed them out of the door without a look back at me.

Finley, however, turned around with a bright grin on his face and waved enthusiastically, a wave I half-heartedly responded to with a sad smile on my face.

"Bye, Bella!" he said before his father pushed him a little more sternly and I sighed as they disappeared from my field of vision.

The enormous lump in my throat made my chest ache; I could not explain why I felt such guilt and despair now that for once in my life I had stood up for myself and my friend.

This had felt right while doing it – but so wrong afterwards. Somehow I felt a strange mixture between guilt, frustration, and the foreign feeling of a missed opportunity boiling inside of me – neither of which I was capable of explaining.

* * *

Okay, I figure this needs some kind of clarification. My beta for this clearly pointed out her dislike of the happenings in this chapter.

First: _I_ am **NOT** Bella. So, nothing of what Bella is saying in any way represents my own opinion. Her explanations and her blame on Jacob are, of course, nothing but crap. She is wrong, period.

Second: I know that pretty much everything Angela did in this was wrong and irresponsible and would cost her her license. Of course, I know that. But it was an emergency and although what she did was dead wrong I would not judge her entire self over this. Also, there will be a Jacob/Angela back story that will hopefully resolve some things later on.

Both Bella and Angela make terrible mistakes in this, I am aware of that. I would neither do nor say any of the things they do in this.

So, I hope I didn't offend anyone with this.


	3. part 3

3.

After what felt like a decade, I finally felt myself falling into the soft cushions of my couch. I did not bother turning on the light in my small living room, the scent of home lingering in my nose, calming my raging heart a little.

Only a few minutes after Mr. Black had left with Finley and Isla, Henry's mother had arrived, and it had taken me a few minutes to soothe the crying woman after telling her what had happened. She had kept on muttering inaudible words and blaming herself for the empty spray, her face marked with exhaustion and her breathing sounding anything but healthy as she was pressed against me, sobbing and crying.

After she had left, I was alone, strolling uselessly through Angela's house. In an attempt to distract myself I had started to uncover the furniture in the living room and neatly folded the blankets, stuffing them into a cabinet by the various bright, animal-shaped coat hooks.

When Angela arrived about ten minutes after - the ticking clock close to driving me insane in the empty, mute house - she seemed relieved, a drop of sweat glistening on her temple and her chest heaving with the weight of each breath she took.

I had pushed her into a chair and made her some tea, listening to her story of what had happened at the doctor, and that Henry was fine now and glad to be with his mommy.

Not one mention of Mr. Black. There were no words to describe how relieved I felt that he had obviously not gone straight to see Angela. Which did not mean that was not yet to come. But in that very moment I had been able of everything but coping with the mistake I might have made, trying to blend out the guilt I felt over every word I said.

And so, after I had been sure that Angela was calm and breathing steadily, and that Ben was on his way home from work, I hugged Angela goodbye and walked the short way back to my office building. Angela's town house was quite practical for lunch breaks (should I ever not skip them) or after-work teas.

My heart still beating faster than it should have, the literal weight of guilt and a bad conscious threatening to suffocate me, I got into my small car and tried hard to focus on the traffic as I drove the twenty minutes home.

The small apartment I lived in was outside of the city, the many cars and the noise, as well as the monstrous rents preventing me from living closer to my office.

As I stepped into the apartment I immediately stood in my kitchen which was overloaded with food in all cabinets and flowers on every free surface. The brick wall behind the counter was my favourite part about the apartment and the main reason for my decision to move in here. Since the living room and the kitchen were not separated and the living room offered a large window, the entire room was flooded with light, now dim because dusk was in full bloom outside.

The light wood of my kitchen cabinets combined with its dark surface made me feel at home. After dropping my bag onto the floor and my coat onto one of the counters, I grabbed the clean glass which was always ready next to the sink to take a sip of cold water, enjoying the feeling of the liquid running down my throat, cooling my overheated skin from the inside.

The glass still in my hand, I took the few steps and entered my living room. Another brick wall behind the couch overloaded with photographs made me feel like everyone who held a place in my heart and who I could not see everyday was always with me – or at least present in my mind.

As I finally dropped onto the soft, beige cushions of my couch, I kicked of my ballerina flats and ran my bare toes over the slightly itching fabric of my rug, a pretty ugly debris of my mother's old house in Phoenix. She had given it to me, telling me that the hardwood floor in my apartment were too cold combined with the occasional brick walls and needed some warmth.

And she was right. As much as I detested the pattern and the fabric, the rug did do its job and gave my living room a warmer touch.

I groaned as my eyes wandered through the semi-darkness, the remnants of my breakfast still on my dining room table, which stood right by the large window, although the view was anything but spectacular. All I could see were the other apartment buildings around and the parking lot where my car was currently pressed between my neighbours much larger vehicles.

Unwillingly, I heaved myself off my couch, almost tripping over my shoes as I proceeded to my table, gathering my plate, glass and cutlery in my hands, dropping it into the sink carefully before finally deciding to turn on the light.

As I filled a pot with water and put in on my stove, almost dropping the salt shaker into the water, my stomach gurgled loudly, the empty feeling in my belly almost painful and I tried to remember what I had eaten last. But nothing popped into my head after my toast this morning and two slices of apple at work.

While the water started to heat, I gathered my stray shoes and coat, putting everything in its right place before checking my answering machine. The single call was from my mother, her overly excited, almost childish voice telling me that her new husband Phil had given her a bungee jump for her birthday and that she could not wait to tell me everything about it, ending her call with the usual _Kisses from Mom, sweetheart_.

I smiled at her enthusiasm and deleted the message, my tired feet dragging me into my tiny bathroom, the crude white light burning my eyes. The fresh tulips I bought yesterday emitted a slightly sweet, pleasant scent in the small room. The pink color was a delicious contrast to the white wooden cabinets.

The TV sounded in the background as I finished my dinner, my plate filled with spaghetti and tomato sauce and cheese smelling like heaven as I sank back into the couch, carefully placing the plate on my belly. Every bite was like balm for my tortured stomach and I barely listened to the grey-haired woman on TV reporting about yet another bank robbery in town. I was mostly consumed in the taste and feeling of food sliding down into my empty stomach, warming me, soothing me.

But my peace from physical pain only brought back mental issues and the sudden twitch of guilt in my chest brought me back to the events of this afternoon.

I was very aware of the fact that there would inevitably be an aftermath and that I would have to face the consequences of the mistake I had made – a mistake of which I was pretty sure now that time had passed and I was able to recapitulate my every word, action and reaction.

It had been nothing but inappropriate of me to even try and judge Mr. Black, simply pushing guilt and blame onto a person I had never met before because I was swamped by the situation.

His face flashed back into my mind, as clear as it had been a few hours earlier and I felt a shiver run down my spine, leaving a trail of goose bumps on my oversensitive skin. It was not the intimidating, reprehensive expression that had left an impression, neither the adorable lovingly and caring shine in his eyes when he had talked to his children – no. It was the pure and honest expression of hurt when I had blamed him, dared to judge his capabilities as a father. That expression, almost soft and close to eliciting that lump in my throat which would lead to tears, was now burned into my memory and I knew that I somehow had to make up for what I had done. Not just because it might get Angela into trouble, but most importantly because I had hurt, actually _hurt_, this stranger. And that was inexcusable.

My hands did the dishes without my mind taking too big of a part in the process, and I was mildly surprised when everything was clean, dry and stuffed back into the cabinets. Sighing from the finished work, I turned off the TV and went into my bedroom, trying hard to force the stranger's face out of my mind so I could at least find some peace to sleep.

The bedroom was by far the darkest room in the house, due mostly to the fact that there was only one small window and I had chosen this room as a depot for my many books. My passion. The one love in my life that was permanent.

My bed was nestled into the corner by the window, the many shelves above it stuffed with hundreds of books, the lamp at the ceiling not doing a very good job in lightening up the room.

But I never cared much about it. I was here to sleep and it was dark then, anyways. So why bother to store my books somewhere else or invest too much money in a decent lightning system?

Almost blind in the small room, I grabbed my pyjamas from my bed, the silky touch already promising the cozy and light feeling of my pillows and sleep, and made my way back into the bathroom.

Before I could fall asleep from exhaustion under the shower, I started to examine my knees, an ugly red smear and stray pieces of dead skin being the result of my little heroic stunt earlier.

I did not bother checking my mail that night, my eyelids heavy like bricks, and so I fell into bed with an almost brutal outtake of breath. The warmth and softness enveloped me and I fell asleep before I even had the chance to turn off my poor excuse for a bedside lamp.

* * *

I know this was much more of a filler chapter, but things will progress in the oncoming parts.


	4. part 4

4.

With the familiar urge to simply turn around and leave, I stepped into the office the next morning. A wide yawn pulled almost hurtfully at the corners of my mouth, indicating my restless night. I had to learn that falling asleep immediately does not necessarily lead into a night of deep and refreshing sleep.

In fact, the few hours I _had_ slept had been anxious, turning around in my bed as if I was resting on needles, trying to ease the pain by moving and not focusing too much weight on one point for too long.

And the many hours I had been awake I had spent staring at the ceiling in the darkness (after waking up the first time, the dim light of my lamp had been eliminated) and thinking, my mind spinning like a carousel, circling around the same topic. I simply could not get yesterday afternoon out of my head.

After all the hours I had chewed the thought through I was not even too sure anymore what exactly it was that occupied my mind so much. Was it the debris of panic and adrenaline that caused everything else to linger? Was it still the guilt, as I had thought in the beginning? Or was it this ridiculous sensation that I had missed something – something vital? I could not help but feel that something had happened or that I had seen something that I should have paid more attention to – something that was important. Even now.

So, my night which had started so hopeful, had resulted in me checking my mail, writing a long answer to my friend Alice, who lived in New York at the moment, flipping through about seven books without reading a single word, wandering through my apartment like a ghost, switching on the TV but giving up on that at the sight of the news – always the same misery, every single day – and finally landing back in my bed, praying to find another minute's rest until my alarm had went off.

I felt even more drained than the day before, my eyelids pulsing in time with my heartbeat, the dull pain underneath my temples radiating down my spine, my legs feeling strangely like jelly, threatening to surrender from their task of carrying my weight for the rest of the day.

"Bella!" I heard the eager, high-pitched voice echoing behind me the second I dropped into my chair, closing my eyes at the sound of hell behind me.

"Morning, Jessica," I managed to mumble as the bright pink blazer appeared in my field of vision, almost stabbing the eyesight out of me.

"Morning. Victoria is going insane in there," she said in her rush of a voice, pointlessly waving towards Victoria's office before continuing. "There are problems with the photographer for the new spread. However, here is what you need to finish before lunch. We really need it before then. The sooner the better. And when _Clarey´s_ calls because of the ads, tell them we have a meeting. We really don't have time to discuss their trivialities at the moment. And if you're still not finished with filing the 2001 issues, you should really hurry up. We can't wait forever, and the people in storage are really getting on my nerves with their impatience. So, see that you get that finished by the end of this week. And before I forget: We have a meeting before lunch break, so get these files here right to the archive – no time to check them today. And I might not make it to the cafeteria after the meeting, so could you get me a salad and a cappuccino and just put it on my desk? That would be fantastic. And the graphic section – they need some phone numbers and addresses so you should take your card box and stop by there sometime today. Maybe you should do this straight away – they are slow these days and we need the finished cover Thursday."

All I did was nod, carefully placing the files Jessica had given me on my desk, slipping back into my shoes, which I had already abandoned after sitting down and gave Jessica a faint, inferior smile as she pranced away on her heels, still chattering about the importance of the meeting and _impatience_ and _discipline_.

I managed to suppress the groan that wanted to escape me and grabbed my card box full of addresses and phone numbers, e-mails and cell phone numbers, making my way to the graphic section. Sometimes the mischievous idea overcame me (probably due to my constant exhaustion) that this little box would be worth a million dollars. At times like these I lapsed into vivid daydreams of Caribbean islands, cocktails, sunshine, crystal clear water, massages and the soft breeze waking me every morning.

With these dreams in my head I arrived in the graphic section and sighed, preparing myself for what would most definitely become a difficult adaptation of a very simple process. Somehow those artists seemed to have a thing for making extremely simple things immensely difficult.

I spent a decade in the graphic section picking out phone numbers and addresses, dragging myself back to my desk, talking to a million people on the telephone until my ear was red and sore. Simultaneously, I was filing the pile of documents Jessica had given me this morning, carried the finished folders to the archive and jogged to the cafeteria because I was late and salads were always gone quickly. I forced my way through the crowd with the help of my elbows, setting both the salad and the cappuccino on Jessica's desk with a victorious smile and I was finally faced with the most challenging phone call.

The second I fell back into my chair, the phone rang, and I picked it up. Before I was finished with introducing myself, the shrill, always-angry voice of Lauren Mallory ripped apart my eardrum. This woman was the personification of a nightmare. I was lucky that I had never had the pleasure of meeting her in person, but what I heard from others was enough. She was the business manager of _Clarey´s_ – a hugely successful jewellery producer – and thought she was the queen of the world. I wondered if she was somehow related to Jessica, although – and that I had to give her credit for – Jessica was everything (selfish, arrogant, superficial, shallow and greedy for power) but she was not evil. No, deep down Jessica was a very decent girl. But Lauren Mallory… she could easily have been Snow White's stepmother.

Throughout the very skimpy rest of my lunch break, I let her yell into my ear, trying to maintain my dignity and calmness, explaining to her that neither Jessica nor Victoria were available to talk to her and that I was not responsible for which ads were going where and which size they had. When she finally hung up without a goodbye, I slammed the phone back into the receiver and rolled my eyes at the sheer stupidity of everyone I was working with.

Just as I had bent down to pull my box with apple slices out of my bag, the phone rang again and I cursed whichever god had such fun torturing me.

"_Clarity Magazine_, Isabella Swan. Good morning," I said in the monotone singsong voice I had mastered like a robot after saying it a million times every single day.

"Bella? Hey, it's Angela."

With a shivering rush of goose bumps I realized that due to the restless hours of working, my _little_ problem had entirely vanished from my conscious mind. However, the absence of it had not eased the effects it had on me now, and I nervously bit my lower lip as I calmed my breathing, fear overcoming me.

"Hey, Angela," I answered, keeping my voice low so no one would hear that this was very clearly a private conversation. Although it was lunch break, Jessica hated seeing or listening to it and she should be back any minute. Apart from my voice being quiet like a breeze of air it shivered like fingers in the cold.

"I know you don't like me calling you at work, but it's really important. I don't bother you right now, right? It's lunch break, isn't it?"

I admired Angela. And it made me feel undeserving of her friendship. If she really called for the reason I thought, then she was such a warm and caring person to still care about the consequences of calling me at work.

"Sure, it is. No problem."

"Okay, but tell me if you need to get back to work. I talked to Mr. Black this morning – you know, Finley and Isla's father – and he was really angry with you. Well, he was, of course, furious that I left his children with you, but he had not a single good word left for you. What happened there? He didn't say anything specific and I don't want to quote what exactly he said. But he was really… mad at you."

I sighed and suddenly felt nervous, almost like a child who has to confess something to its parents. Like the one time I had to confess to my mother that I had broken her favourite vase, or one summer when I had taken the bullets of my father's gun (he was chief of police) and he had spent hours looking for them until I had finally taken them out from under my bed and pushed into his hands with a mumbled _sorry_.

"Bella?" Angela's voice pulled me out of my thoughts and I cleared my throat.

"Well… Like you said he was really furious and I was just… I was so confused about the whole situation that I might have said a thing or two that were… inappropriate. But I'm really sorry. Did he… well, is he still mad at _you_?" I asked hesitantly, praying to God that my stupid and childish behaviour did not harm Angela.

"Well, he was not very happy about it, and made me understand that he'll keep an eye on what is going on from now on. But he didn't take Finley and Isla somewhere else, if that is what you wanted to ask," Angela said, and I could almost hear the reassuring smile on her face, but also a hint of remorse which was foreign to hear from her.

"I'm really sorry, Angela, if I got you in any trouble. Is there anything I can do?"

"Well, not really for _me_. But… I think you should apologize. Whatever you said to him must really have been harsh. So… you could do that. Not for me. But for yourself."

"Maybe you're right," I sighed and let my eyes wander through the office, watching out for any sign of blinding pink blazers. "He's scary, though," I added with a mock laughter, remembering the intimidating look in his eyes the day before.

"He is _what_?" Angela asked, laughing out loud.

"Intimidating. You should have seen the way he looked at me. Like I was a pedophile. I mean, that must have been his first thought. But I was scared he was going to kill me right there in your hallway."

Angela continued laughing and the relief that washed over me felt a million times better than falling into a bed after a hard day at work.

"He's a really nice guy; very polite and definitely not dangerous. He was just scared for his children. No need to be afraid of him, Bella."

Just as I was about to answer, I caught a glimpse of bright pink by the door and quickly sat up straighter, falling back into my monotone, self-confident singsong voice and hoped dearly that Angela understood.

"I'm sorry. I'm afraid I'm not responsible for those decisions."

"Oh, the devil on heels, I guess," Angela said, and did not wait for me to fake a response. "Mr. Black picks up his children the same time every day. So if you want to apologize you could just stop by. And don't let this woman get on your nerves."

"Yes, I understand. Okay. Nice talking to you. Have a great day, bye."

Just as I put the telephone down, Jessica appeared in front of me in all her glory, a victorious grin spread over her make-up covered face.

"Did Mallory call?"

"Yes, she did. Not too long ago. I got rid of her for now but you'll have to deal with those issues soon, or I'm afraid she'll come crawling through the telephone," I said, trying to keep my voice calm and not be distracted by the uncomfortable and queasy feeling that overcame me at the thought of talking to Mr. Black again this afternoon.

"I guess you're right. I'll talk to Victoria about it. Their demands are really ridiculous. They're not _that_ big, but we can't really turn them down, either," she said, almost deep in thought. With a dispatching wave she strolled by and into her office.

* * *

Jake will make an appearance in the next chapter^^


	5. part 5

5.

"Bella, calm down. Why are you so nervous?"

Angela was definitely amused by my anxiousness as she cleaned Carla's apron. The little girl had just been picked up by her father, leaving only Finley and Isla in the living room – once again covered over and over in the linen blankets – since Henry's mother had taken a day off to spend it with her son.

After yesterday's events, he was still a little bit in shock, but doing great, as Angela had told me.

"I'm not nervous; it was just a hard day and…well, there are many things I prefer over an apology," I mumbled as I circled Carla's abandoned paint brush between my fingers, keeping my voice deliberately low so the children wouldn't catch anything I said.

It wasn't even a lie; Jessica had rushed me through the office all day long and the filing I was supposed to finish by Friday still left a massive amount of work for me to do.

Angela only winked at me knowingly after my excuse. I was about to defend myself _– oh, how I hated those self-assured little signs of superiority_ – when the ring of the doorbell caused me to wince, which, of course, only encouraged Angela in her little banter. She seemed to enjoy my self-consciousness immensely.

I swallowed while the kids jumped to the hallway enthusiastically, simply dropping their brushes onto the still unfinished _masterpiece_. Angela followed them while I awkwardly stepped from one foot to the other, unsure of what to do. Deciding that simply standing around would help my nerves, I picked up the brushes and made my way to the kitchen, turning on the cold water to clean them with my mind absorbed in thoughts.

_This is simple_, I kept telling myself. _You don't know this man. It's not like anything depends on it._

But somehow, the strange feeling still lingered that I had missed a chance yesterday with my behaviour – a sensation I still found no capability to explain. I was almost embarrassed by it; clinging to chances was so unlike me. Nowadays, at least.

"Angela said you wanted to talk to me," a deep, rather husky voice said from my right. Once again, I flinched and jumped a little before turning my flushed face toward the origin of the voice. My heart skipped a beat when I saw Mr. Black standing in the doorframe, casually leaning against it, his arms crossed in front of his chest, feet twisted around the ankles and his eyes flickering from my face back to my hands in the sink.

His face was still dead-serious, but neither the hurt nor intimidating gaze, which had been radiating from his eyes yesterday, were visible right now. _Good_.

"Ehm..," I stuttered, quite honestly distracted by the fact that somehow I must have missed that this man was…far from bad looking. Yesterday, I had been so afraid of his reaction that I had been blocking out everything else but his gaze. But now that he stood there calmly, waiting for me to open my mouth and _say something_, I couldn't help but admire the russet color of his skin, a shade darker than his children's, the way the dim light shone in his silky, raven hair, the deep pools of his eyes and his tall and well-formed physique. And that leather-jacket he was wearing didn't help the slightest to calm my nerves which were already on high-alert.

"Miss Swan, right?"

"Ehm, yes," I answered bluntly, putting the brushes down in the sink and grabbing the towel nearby to dry my paint-smeared hands.

"I wanted... I wanted to apologize for what I said yesterday. I had absolutely no right to judge or blame you, and I'm sorry if what I said hurt or insulted you in any way. I was…really distressed and confused, and I overreacted. I'm really sorry. I'm sure you are a great father. There was no need for me to be so…inappropriate. And I want to thank you for not being too hard on Angela," I blabbered with the speed of a jet plane, stunned by my own boldness and sudden confidence that lingered beneath the rush of words.

It was silent for a minute, both of us simply staring into each other's eyes. Although this kind of direct contact usually made me enormously nervous and self-conscious, this felt different. I felt comfortable looking into those eyes because I could now see what Angela had talked about: that he was a really nice guy. And most of all, something I had nearly missed yesterday, a warm and caring father. A real _Daddy_.

"Apology accepted," he finally said with a polite and friendly smile, the soft shine in his eyes so similar to the one I had already seen in his son's.

An embarrassingly loud sigh of relief _whoosh_ed out of my mouth and the flush on my face crept back in as Mr. Black snorted quietly and smiled wider.

"Did I leave that much of an impression?" he asked, dropping his arms only to push his hands into the pockets of his jeans. He stepped closer to me, still smiling.

I felt my forehead wrinkle in confusion. I could only smile back at him, not considering an answer necessary. His smile was absolutely contagious and my cheeks actually felt a little sore, making me wonder when I had last laughed. _Really_. _Honestly_.

"Isla, ouch!"

Both of our eyes, which until then had still been focused on each other's, wandered to the door behind Mr. Black, where the faint noise of his children's brawl sounded from the hallway.

He shook his head, grinning widely as he turned back to me, waving his hand at my confused expression.

"They're always like that. Little monsters," he said and the sound of his voice was as soothing as the cup of tea Angela had made for me, now standing abandoned on a table in the living room.

"Thank you again, Mr. Black," I repeated with a grateful smile.

"God, don't call me that; makes me feel horribly old. I'm Jacob," he said with a mock expression of disgust on his face as he reached out his hand in my direction.

"Bella," I said, much quieter than I had intended to, taking his hand in mine.

The feeling of his touch sent tingles down my spine – a sensation I had so long been deprived of – and we simply stood there looking at each other, not even shaking our touching hands before I dropped mine and cleared my throat.

"I thought it was _Isa_bella," Jacob said casually, and I was unsure whether or not he was aware of the awkward tension surrounding us. If he was, then he was doing an amazing job in downplaying it.

"Well, technically, it is. But I prefer Bella."

Before Jacob could say anything, Finley and Isla came rushing into the kitchen, apparently chasing each other.

"Hey, there. No running around like mad. You're not cavemen, are you?" Jacob said with just enough authority in his voice, grabbing his daughter around the waist and swinging her up in the air. The little girl squeaked as Jacob tickled her sensitive sides, keeping a gentle but firm grip on her.

"Daddy!" Finley called in protest, his lips pouted and his expression full of disappointment.

"Sorry, buddy," Jacob apologized, kneeling down on the floor, still tickling his daughter. "Jump on!"

With a sunny, wide grin on his face, Finley climbed onto his father's back, his tiny hands circling around Jacob's neck to hold on.

The image before me was so full of pure love and adoration that I couldn't help but smile and stare at it shining brightly in the children's eyes, and Jacob's as he stood again, swinging his children through the air. Somewhere deep inside of me, in a corner of myself that I had banned away long ago, something awoke; a longing desire for something I could not quite define at this moment.

But it felt good and strangely familiar to have it back.

"Are we going home, Daddy?" Isla asked, her fingers clutching to her father's strong arms.

"Yep."

Protesting groans echoed in the kitchen as Jacob set down his children carefully and sent them back to put on their jackets and caps.

"Wonderful kids," I murmured, more to myself but Jacob still heard it and the content smile on his face turned into one of pride.

"Yeah, they are."

Maybe I was imagining it, but underneath the love and pride radiating from Jacob's eyes, I believed to see something that I could only identify as fear. And hurt. I didn't understand it, and I couldn't fight the urge in me to want to find out more, to get to know this stranger; to find out the reason for this bitterness that seemed to be hidden underneath the sunny surface.

"It was nice meeting you, Bella. Second chance, right?" he asked, reaching out his hand again and I took it, shaking it this time, the foreign tingle from earlier not reappearing and no goose bumps erupting on my skin.

"It was nice meeting you, too," I said while nodding slowly, keeping the touch as superficial as I could.

Our hands parted and he stepped out of the kitchen slowly. I, however, still stood there, almost immobile, with my hand reaching out, holding onto nothing but air as I heard Finley and Isla's voice calling _bye, Bella_ in unison from the hallway.

Shaking myself out of my trance like a dog flinging water from his fur, I called a quick _bye_ and grabbed the brushes in the sink, turning the water back on to finish my earlier work.

* * *

I really hope you like Jake as much as I do :D


	6. part 6

6.

_What am I doing here? This is ridiculous!_

Those two uncertain thoughts circled in my head like a mantra, drumming against my temple, making every step I was taking seem like I carried a ton of bricks on my shoulders.

The trip to Angela's house from my office seemed unnaturally longer than usual and with each extra step I took I felt more and more pathetic. Still, my feet carried me on, ignoring the warning in my mind telling to turn around, walk back to the office building, get into my car and drive home.

_What am I doing here? This is ridiculous! _You_ are ridiculous!_

My left shoulder stung painfully from the weight of my bag, which I normally left in my car before going to Angela's. However, after working about half an hour longer than usual, I had not stopped by my car to get rid of the heavy bag. Victoria had ordered a last minute meeting which required my help in organising and so I had been in a little hurry after leaving – what for I was not entirely sure.

If I was being honest with myself, I knew why I was so anxious, but was reluctant and embarrassed to admit it to myself. I knew exactly who I was missing.

I groaned as the strap of my bag once again slipped from my shoulder and slid halfway down my arm, only to be stopped by the crook of my elbow. The impact pulled my left side slightly down, gravity doing a fine job, and with an annoyed and uncoordinated shake of my arm I moved the bag back into place.

The closer I got to Angela's house the more real my doubts became. More questions started to pop up in my head. _What am I going to tell Angela? Think of a spontaneous reason to stop by – again. Think of something to tell…_him_. Anything. Get back to the car. Don´t humiliate yourself. Just think of _some_thing!_

Why did I get myself into this mess in the first place? I could just have gotten in my car, make a quick stop at the grocery store and spend a nice late afternoon and evening in my apartment. Then I would have been able to get into bed early after being deprived of sleep for two nights in a row and maybe take a bath before. And yet here I was, sweating a little underneath my coat as the sun shone down on me, walking too fast to actually call it walking and yet to slow for it to be jogging or running. I probably just looked downright ridiculous.

What was it about this stranger that made me curious like a child? I could not get over the urge to want to know more. To find out who he was and why he seemed much too bitter.

I had never given much thought to other people. It was just not in my nature to be overly excited to meet new people, to get to know them, to let them in. I always had the feeling I was better off on my own.

It had not always been like this. But…ever since…

Suddenly my feet stopped moving and fear washed over me, enveloping me in that uncomfortable blanket of adrenaline and a dull heartbeat I dreaded so much. As I neared Angela's house, I considered for a second to continue now that I had made it all the way already. But then, finally, my mind won over my body and before I knew it, I had turned around and my feet hastily carried me back the way I had just come, my mind cursing me for being so childish and evasive.

I didn't make it very far. After I had only taken a few steps, a voice echoed through the deserted street.

"Hey, Bella!"

The foolish idea of pretending I had not heard him and just continuing on my way back seemed even more insane in my head than it probably would have been in reality. I froze and inhaled deeply, trying to steady myself before turning around to see Jacob Black leaning against his red Volkswagen Rabbit. He was grinning like a child on Christmas.

The sight had a touch of a cartoon around it – this massive man standing next to the small car, grinning like a boy, white teeth flashing in the sunlight.

"Why did you turn around all of a sudden? Were you running away from me?"

I made hesitant steps in his direction – which, much to my dislike, was only a few yards from where I stood – in a desperate attempt to salvage my pride. How could I have not seen him standing there?

"Ehm…No, of course not," I lied with a fake smile on my face, imitating Jessica's shallow laughter in a way that would have made me proud any other day. "I just…forgot something."

Jacob raised one of his eyebrows before nodding. I couldn't help but think that he knew that I was lying. And why I had been running.

"So, do you stop by here every day?" he asked, swirling his car key between his fingers, an orange duck attached to the green band.

"No. Not too often. But I work nearby so sometimes I do," I stuttered, my ability to speak leaving along with my dignity, leaving me standing here like the last living fool. With my heart pounding furiously in my chest, I stopped a few feet away from Jacob – keeping a safe distance.

"I thought so. I guess I would have seen you if you were here more often. Where do you work at?"

"_Clarity._"

"That chick magazine?" he asked and I faked an outraged pout at his reaction. He laughed and I immediately felt warmer and fuzzier inside. Calmer.

This was an entirely new sensation.

"Gotta go inside. They'll be waiting," Jacob said and he reached out his arm, bowing slightly while saying (in a very bad British accent) _Ladies first_.

"Thank you, Sir," I replied, curtseying as gracefully as I could before stepping up the stairs to Angela's house, Jacob following close behind me. When we reached the door, he stood right beside me, pressing the door bell.

The warmth radiating from his body so close to mine made the flimsy hairs on the back of my neck stand up, the shiver running all the way down into my fingers. I could even smell him now. Musky, earthy. Almost like pine needles and woods – a scent I had almost forgotten after all the years spent in this city, with no real trees in sight.

Knowing he couldn't see my face I allowed my eyelids to fall close for a second, simply letting myself go in the feeling of his proximity and the pleasant fragrance my nostrils were so grateful for.

I felt more peaceful than I had in a very long time, and for that I was grateful. An odd sensation of gratitude for this stranger.

When the door opened we were greeted by two short arms and I was surprised when Finley suddenly clung to me like a monstrous spider.

"Seems like someone has a crush on you," Jacob whispered directly into my ear, the husky tone of his voice sending shivers down into my toes. I had to steady myself, due to losing balance from the force of Finley's hug, which thankfully disguised my unnerving reaction to Jacob.

"Come in," Angela said brightly, smiling as I stepped into her hallway with Finley still attached to me like glue.

"Now, buddy – I don´t get a greeting?" Jacob asked his son, poking him in the ribcage while Isla was already putting on her coat.

"Sure, Daddy," Finley squeaked, throwing himself into his father's arms who lifted him up again, circling him around before landing him carefully back on the ground despite his protests.

"Hey, Angela," I said, barely able to take my eyes off the sight in front of me. I hugged Angela briefly, the grin on her face unbearable to witness. She _always_ knew. Luckily, she was decent enough not to ask why I was here again for the third time in a row, and I was immensely grateful that she saved me from that humiliation.

"When exactly do I have to be here tomorrow?" Jacob asked Angela, busy pulling up the zipper of Finley's black jacket.

"Three p.m. would be great. But it's okay if you came a little later. I plan for dinner to be around six."

"Will there be cake?" Isla asked, the same sparkle in her eyes that she shared with her father and brother.

"Yes, sweetheart. Plenty of cake," Angela said. Jacob rolled his eyes when his daughter was looking away.

"Okay, you two. We gotta go," he finally said, grabbing his children's backpacks in his hand and turning towards the door.

"Bye, Angela. See you tomorrow. And nice running into you, Bella," he added before opening the door.

"Bye," Finley and Isla called, taking tiny quick steps to keep up with their father. Before the door closed, I heard Finley's eager voice. "What's for dinner tonight, Daddy?"

I turned around to face Angela who stood there, hands pressed into her hip, her foot tapping onto the hardwood floor and a mischievous grin on her face.

"Why is there cake tomorrow?" I asked, knowing it would be useless to try and find an excuse for showing up.

"We have a party every three months. Cake, games, dinner. Everything," she explained, that godforsaken smile etched permanently onto her face.

"God, stop staring at me like this, please?" I begged, my face flushed and my voice desperate.

"Maybe. Maybe not. You know… actually, when I think about it – I could need some more help tomorrow with dinner. If you don't have anything better to do…," her sentence trailed off into silence and she read the answer in my eyes, no need for words between us.

"You want to stay?" she asked then, the previous silent topic apparently put aside for now.

"Now that I'm here already," I said, rolling my eyes at myself and following Angela into the kitchen.

* * *

**Thank you** for all the lovely reviews. They really make my day and it's the first thing I check when I come home from school.

The next chapter will be a very important one and I am so ridiculously excited for you all to read it. So, **if you leave a review, I will send you a tiny little preview**. This won't become a regular thing, but the next chapter is my favortie so far and I want to give you something for the wait until chapter 7 is actually posted.


	7. part 7

Here is chapter seven and I am really excited to hear what you think about this. I put a lot of work into this chapter because there is finally some kind of relief to the tension that has been building so far. And please read my author's note at the bottom.

* * *

**7.**

I could already hear the airy laughter of many children as I approached Angela's house once again, the steps I took echoing in my head like déja vu.

It was Friday. The relief that this week's work was finished and a calm weekend faced me was enough to heighten my mood. The question of what I was trying to accomplish by going to this party had been more present in my head than the required concentration on my work the entire day.

An entire house full of children and parents, a lot of noise and probably chaos and I was volunteering to help out only to… to what? To stalk a stranger I barely knew? To humiliate myself only because my curiosity outweighed my sanity?

Faster than I expected, I was standing in front of Angela's door, the tip of my finger hovering above the button of the door bell, and my mind racing. I needed more time to think. Yet, I had no idea it would be worth taking another carousel ride contemplating about what had gotten into me.

And so, getting a hold of myself, I pushed my finger down. I breathed in deeply to calm myself and when the door opened, Angela stood there, grinning brightly at me. Still, there was something about her eyes that startled me. I could only describe it as a thin layer of grey clouding her usual happy nature.

She left me no time to examine her further.

"There you are. Come on, come in," she said hugging me, kissing my cheek before pushing me in. She helped me remove my coat in a flourish movement. A colourful blur rushed by in front of my eyes and the only thing I could make out was a blonde pony tail disappearing into the living room. Everything was decorated with balloons in all colours and shapes, garlands and lights. This was perfect and I once again had to admire Angela for how great she was at this. It was like she was made for exactly this.

"Come on, there's plenty of sandwiches to make for dinner," Angela said, the joy in her voice like honey running down my throat, warm and tender. I had already forgotten about the dull curtain of grey.

As I stepped into the kitchen, I was momentarily overwhelmed by the amount of people in the small and narrow place. About ten people were squeezed into the room, mostly women but I spotted one blonde man standing by the window, cutting cheese in strips.

"Hey, everyone. This is Bella, a good friend and she's here to help us a little," Angela said. Everyone's attention suddenly focused on me and I felt the familiar hot blush in my cheeks. I inconspicuously nudged Angela in the ribcage with my elbow.

There was a choir of _hello_'s and _hey_´s and I smiled into the group before turning to face Angela. "So, what can I do?" I asked, hoping to sound as if helping out here was really the reason for my presence.

"The sink is free so you could wash the vegetables and fruits. I'll get them for you."

Nodding in agreement, I forced my way through the crowd of parents until I made it to the sink.

"Hey," the women next to me said with a genuine smile. She was very tall for a woman and very slender. Her blonde hair showed a little red in the sunlight that flooded through the windows. Her cheekbones were high and her green eyes sharp and focused, but filled with a tender warmth that seemed unfitting combined with her strong appearance.

"Hey," I responded, pushing my palms flat on the surface by the sink, waiting for Angela to bring my work.

"What have you gotten yourself into?" the woman asked with a laugh while smearing butter onto sandwich after sandwich.

"I don't know," I said with a mock shrug and we both laughed.

"I'm Dana," she said, reaching out the hand in which no knife threatened me.

"I'm Bella, although you might have heard that already," I said, shaking her soft hand, rolling my eyes and knew that Dana understood I was referring to Angela's embarrassing introduction of myself.

In the same moment Angela appeared next to me, placing a huge bowl of apples, pears, strawberries, cucumbers, carrots, tomatoes and peppers in front of me.

"Have fun," she said, winking before disappearing.

I snorted and Dana laughed.

"You could still run, you know," she whispered, acting mysteriously which made me laugh, as well, rolling up my sleeves and turning on the water in the sink.

"So, you're not a mom? Only collateral damage?" Dana asked casually and I immediately felt that conversations with her were easy.

"Yes, you could say that. I guess you're a mom, then? I'm probably the only non-parent here."

"I'm a mom, yes. And, technically, you're not the only non-parent here. Mike over there is only a _step_-father."

"I can hear you talking about me, Davis," the only male voice in the room called over the chattering crowd, the noise coming from the living room almost drowning out every conversation.

"Sure, Newton. What's the problem?" Dana called back, laughing. "We work together," she explained at my confused expression. I raising my head a little to show I understood.

"But that makes him a parent, right?" I said, resisting the temptation of the handful of strawberries literally calling out to me, begging to be eaten.

"Maybe."

We fell into a comfortable silence after that, and I started listening to the conversations around me, mother's complaining about everyday trivialities with their husbands, children, pets and work.

I felt like I was stuck in the wrong place, completely not belonging here.

"Excuse me." The familiar deep and husky voice close behind me almost had me dropping the strawberries into the sink

I could barely hold myself together as I felt the familiar shiver run down my spine, tingling in every cell on the way.

"Hey, Jacob," Dana said friendly, stepping aside a little to make room for him.

"Angela put me on watercolour duty," he said casually and I had finally turned my head to face him, standing close behind me.

"Hey, Bella," he said with that warm smile, making the edges of my lips twitch strangely.

"Hey," I managed to squeeze out of my lungs, sounding pathetically breathless.

"I need the sink for a second," Jacob said, holding up three empty glasses. Stepping aside enough for him to fit between Dana an me, I bumped into the black-haired woman next to me.

"Sorry," I mumbled, throwing a short, apologizing gaze in her direction but she only smiled at me reassuringly and so I turned back to watch Jacob fill the three glasses with water.

"Thank you," he finally said in my direction, smiling at me. There was a twinkle in his eyes I could not miss and which left me standing there like an ordered package that had never been picked up, a rush of blood flushing my cheeks.

I managed not to look after him, knowing that it would be very obvious combined with my blush. So I wordlessly continued with my work at hand. Dana soon began another conversation in which I only half-heartedly participated but was thankful for at the same time because it distracted me.

The second time Jacob appeared, only about ten minutes after his first appearance, he chatted with Dana for a few minutes, apparently their children were _buddies_. Just listening to the calming tone of his voice made me want to step closer to him. When the urge to lean against him had suddenly washed over me I quickly started picking up some dirt from a strawberry in my hand.

"You sure do a very thorough job there," he said suddenly and I once again blushed, cursing silently under my breath at my obvious reaction to him and I only nodded, not daring to look at him, fearing for my sanity. And dignity.

Just when I finally made the decision to calm down and let my mind take things slow, Jacob returned for new water, this time not announcing his arrival and waiting for Dana and me to step aside. Instead he leaned over my right shoulder to fill the glasses. His chest, hard as a stone, was pressed against my back and the warmth that flooded through my veins like a tidal wave of fire made me gulp and shiver at the same time. My hands were slowly retreating from underneath the tepid water to make place for his.

"Thank you," he said, almost a whisper but yet loud enough not to sound conspicuous. He retreated again with the freshly filled glasses, leaving me behind in a mess once again.

When Jacob had appeared for the third time in thirty minutes, squeezing between me and Dana to empty and refill the, by now very smeared, glasses, I silently cursed Angela for purposely putting Jacob on _watercolour-duty_ and pinning me in front of the sink.

"Would you like to switch, Bella? Your hands are all soaked and puffy already." Dana's voice sounded somewhere far away and it took me a second too long to pull myself back into reality. Her neatly plucked eyebrow was raised mischievously and I stuttered before recalling her question.

"Sure. Thanks," I muttered, dropping the clean apple in my hand next to the sink so Barbara, the woman on my left who I had bumped into earlier, could slice it and silently switched places with Dana, starting to smear butter on the sandwiches.

The constant sound of running water in my ears left an impact on my bladder and when my stomach started to clench painfully, I finally surrendered after nervously tipping from one foot to the other.

"Dana? I need to make a short trip to the bathroom, okay?"

"Sure, have fun," she said with a laugh. I snorted as I weaved myself through the kitchen and into the hallway, taking a left turn into another short and narrow hallway where it was relatively quiet unlike the noise sounding from the rest of the house.

As I locked the door of the guest bathroom behind me, I leaned against it, feeling swamped by the entire situation, the feeling of Jacob so close by me still tingling in my cells, putting them on high alert.

My fingers were trembling as they fumbled with the belt on my jeans and I could not tear my mind away from the warmth that had radiated from his body, the solid and secure pressure of his chest against my back, him towering over me in an almost protective way. I chewed on my bottom lip nervously, the irony, salty taste on my gustative nerves doing everything but calming me down.

As I washed my hands - like Dana had said puffy and soaked, the chewed off skin around my short nails white and looking even more dead that normal – I gazed at my reflection in the mirror.

My heart-shaped face was still pale white with flushed cheeks and damp, swollen lips from all the chewing, my eyes gloomy and deep in thought. Strands of my brown hair fluttered loosely into my face and stood slightly frizzy on the top of my head. Only now did I realize that my forehead was damp with sweat.

I pressed the wet and cold back of my hand against my forehead, trying to cool myself, calming my nerves before going back to the waiting sandwiches and a talkative Dana.

As I opened the door, my heart skipped a beat and I jumped out of my skin. Much to my surprise, I was able to suppress a shrieking scream. Instead of being faced with an empty and quiet hallway, I suddenly stood face to face with Jacob, our bodies only mere inches apart in the narrow space and I breathed heavily, my palm pressing almost violently into my chest to stop the furious beating of my heart.

"God," I rushed out, a load of air escaping my lungs with a loud sigh. "You scared the –"

But before I had the chance to say another word and express my dislike of him simply mooching around in hallways, two warm hands had grabbed my shoulders with a firm, but gentle grip and pushed me back into the tiny bathroom. The second I heard the door fall closed, I felt a pair of warm, soft and very demanding lips covering my own.

If my heart had been racing before, it now either went with light velocity or stopped entirely.

Thunderstruck, I just stood there in the tiny bathroom, my left hand dangling in the air uselessly, my right palm still pressed into my chest, feeling my vibrating heartbeat underneath my blouse, my eyes shot open in surprise.

The igniting touch of Jacob's lips against mine only lasted a few seconds. As Jacob felt my resistance he quickly pulled away, dropping his hands from my shoulders and looking into my eyes apologetically and…ashamed.

"I'm…sorry," he mumbled. His gaze now dropped to our feet, only mere inches apart, the tips of our shoes almost touching.

My mind was racing, trying to comprehend what had just happened, what this meant or could mean. My heartbeat sounded bluntly in my ear while I just continued to stand there, immobile and mute.

Before I knew what I was doing, my slightly numb fingers had clutched themselves around Jacob's arms and I had pushed myself on my toes, pressing my lips against his again, my eyes closing the second I felt his soft skin underneath mine.

He responded immediately, his hands returning to my shoulders, his lips smouldering against mine, eager and demanding, yet soft and gentle, once pushing and pressing fiercely and then brushing gently. My breathing grew heavy but in a different way than shock – a heated and dizzy frenzy, my mind foggy and damp like the air I desperately tried to suck in through my nose.

I moved my hands gently across Jacob's arms, slightly gripping to steady myself, my short fingernails lightly pressing into his fabric-covered flesh. When I finally reached his neck, I circled it with my hands, buried my fingers in his hair, the touch of it literally like silk, soft and smooth. My fingertips curled around the strands gently, almost playfully. Jacob pushed me roughly into the tile-covered wall behind me, the stark contrast between the cold tiles against my back and Jacob's warm body pressing into my front making me shiver with delight.

When I felt the tip of Jacob's tongue slipping between his slightly parted lips and brushing against my lower lip, I could not help the strangled moan that escaped me, swallowed by Jacob's mouth moving ferociously against mine. His body pushed me further and further into the wall. His hands were now wandering from my shoulders down my arms, rubbing my skin to the point of pain, before he held me by my waist with a strong grip.

The feeling of his tongue gently tracing the outline of my mouth was entirely too much for me, and reflexively my fingers dug into the nape of Jacob's neck, desperately trying to hold onto something while my legs slowly turned into jelly.

I was eager to respond, my own tongue escaping my mouth and meeting Jacob's halfway as he had took the chance to enter my mouth when I had parted my lips.

Losing ourselves in the battle our mouths fought, I clung to Jacob's body, pushing myself further into him, seeking his warmth and the foreign feeling of security in his arms as he encircled my waist and hugged me close to him. His fingers drew fanciful patterns on my back in an almost gentle way compared to the ferocity of our battle fought on the northern front.

When the tips of Jacob's hand slowly inched underneath my flimsy blouse and continued their trail on my bare skin, drawing lines of fire there, a deep moan vibrated in my throat, reflecting from Jacob whose moan was swallowed between our lips as we slowly, unwillingly slowed down. The swirls of Jacob's fingers became more simple, our tongues retreated, Jacob trailed my upper lip one last time, pressing a peck on my lips before parting finally, however, keeping our faces only inches apart.

I could feel his hot, damp breath fanning across my overheated skin and my eyes opened slowly, looking directly into his black pools.

"I…," I stuttered, not really sure what I wanted to say as I slowly trailed my fingertips away from Jacob's neck and rested them against his arms again.

"I waited for you to get out of that kitchen the entire time," Jacob said instead after realising I wasn't going to continue my sentence. His thumb drew subtle circles on my waist.

"You did?" I asked surprised, this entire situation way beyond anything I could imagine with my scarce amount of imagination.

"Hell yeah, I did," he breathed out, touching his forehead against mine and this simple gesture was so full of tenderness that it almost irritated me more than I already was.

"Why?"

"Because I wanted to… ask you something," he said, his eyes now resembling the ones of a child, nervous still after the last few minutes.

"What would that be?" I asked with a reassuring smile, pressing my fingers into his arms slightly to encourage him.

"I wanted…Well, I wondered…if maybe…Would you like to go out with me?"

My face fell slightly and the shock on my face caused Jacob to immediately look rejected and disappointed, his grip on my waist losing it's gentle force.

"It's okay if you don't want…I was just –" before he could continue I pressed my finger against his lips. Feeling his skin beneath mine elicited the urge to kiss him again.

"I do want to. It's just… I don't ever really… _date_, you know?"

The relief that washed across Jacob's features and banished the slight worry lines on his forehead calmed my pulse. His fingers started to brush against my waist again, continuing their own _masterpiece_.

"Can I tell you something if you promise not to laugh?" Jacob asked, his nose nudging against mine playfully, and that trademark boyish grin on his face made me feel fuzzy inside.

"Sure, I promise."

"You would be my first real date," he whispered. If I had not seen it with my own eyes this close to his face, I would have doubted that his russet skin could actually show a blush. But it did.

I felt no urge to laugh, I was just surprised.

"Really?" I asked, dead-serious, drawing my lower lip between my teeth to nibble at it.

"Hm-hm," Jacob murmured before lowering his lips to mine again, sucking my lower lip from between my teeth, nibbling at it himself instead, the gentle sensation of his teeth against my skin eliciting a trail of goose bumps from my neck to my toes.

But before we could get lost in that electrifying rush again, I pulled away, an almost inaudible groan escaping Jacob and his hands gripped my waist a little tighter.

"When do you have time?" I asked, wishing dearly that time would not stretch on forever until I would see him again.

"It's the week-end, so that should be fine," he said, gazing deeply into my eyes, the corners of his lips pulled up in a very faint and caring smile. "You?"

"Any time. What about tomorrow?" I suggested, grinning almost embarrassingly.

"Theoretically. But I don't know if I can get a babysitter by then," Jacob responded, disappointment once again etched onto his features, making him look so much older than he was.

"That's okay. I'm not that outgoing anyway. If you want to you could come to my house and I'll cook us dinner. You can just bring them," I said honestly, my hands now stroking up and down his arms.

"Really?"

"Sure. Would lasagne be okay?"

"They'll freak out. I fail at cooking lasagne but they love it," Jacob grinned. I nodded, mirroring his bright smile in my own way, the feeling stretchy after minutes of using muscles barely ever used.

"Any specific dessert they like?"

"Jello with vanilla sauce. They'll want to move in with you then."

We both laughed and the ease between us after the constant tension during the last days made me feel like I just won ten years of my lifetime.

"That's a deal. I'll write down my address and phone number. I have post-it's in my bag. Would six be okay?"

"We'll be there. Maybe not quite on time depending on what they are up to, though," Jacob said, pressing a kiss on my forehead before taking a step back, releasing us from each other's holds.

"No problem. You have… watercolour on your neck," I said, smiling, quickly moistening my index finger with my tongue before gently cleaning Jacob's neck from the blue smear of paint. I felt him shiver underneath my touch and that shiver was contagious until I pulled my hand away.

We stood there in silence for a few seconds, just looking into each other's eyes, calming our breaths and trying to get a hold on ourselves, before Jacob finally said something to release us from the quiet.

"We should get back, I'm still on watercolour-duty, after all."

I laughed and nodded in agreement, taking a step towards the door, my hand already on the knob when Jacob gently turned me around and kissed me softly on the lips again. No urge this time, just a gentle brush of skin.

"I've never done anything like this before," he whispered and I nodded again, felling dizzy again. This was new to me, too.

We both jumped a little when we heard a loud shattering noise from the direction of the living room.

Sighing, we turned around and I opened the door, checking out the corridor to see if no one would catch us before slipping through the door and sprinting back into the kitchen without looking back to Jacob.

An hour later, while everyone was busy with dinner, I excused myself for another bathroom trip, quickly scribbling down my address and phone number on a pink post-it and slipping it into Jacob's leather jacket hanging on the wall, my heart pumping heavily and my mind chuckling at the sneakiness of this.

Returning to the living room, I smiled knowingly in Jacob's direction who was currently cleaning Finley's face – smeared with ketchup – but still saw me and returned the smile warmly.

* * *

So, what do you think? Good? Bad? Too quickly? No fear, they will be taking smaller steps again.

There will not be an update until probably October 8th because I'm going on a 11 day long graduation trip to Barcelona with my class from September 28th to October 8th. But the next chapter is written and I will put in into beta-read while I'm gone so I can post chapter 8 once I'm back.


	8. part 8

8.

My heart beat in a frenzy as I stood in front of my mirror, gazing at my reflection – my face tinted with a slight rose blush of anticipation and my hair fell loosely and in soft waves around my shoulders.

Everything was ready – dinner, dessert cooling on my bedroom windowsill, my apartment tidied up, table finished, some candles lit to give the small place a cozy and homey atmosphere, and everything sharp and potentially dangerous banned into drawers and cabinets.

It was five minutes after six, and although Jacob had warned me that the kids might delay his arrival, I was getting even edgier with each passing second. My slightly trembling hand stroked across my flimsy patterned blouse – something I had bought on a trip to Florida a few years ago and had never worn since then. Maybe it had just been waiting for _this_ moment.

Deciding that another sprinkle of perfume couldn't do any harm, I dwelled in the soft, bloomy scent and jumped a little when the door bell rang. I had hated the shrill sound of it from the very first day.

Inhaling deeply, I stepped out of my bathroom, straightening myself before opening the door to my apartment with what I hoped to be a warm and welcoming smile.

Jacob stood there with his bright, sunny smile on his face, a bouquet of red marguerites in his hand, Finley and Isla standing in front of him. They were both slightly nervous-looking.

"Hello," I said, smiling down at the kids to ease their nervousness, and Finley immediately snapped out of his unease, enveloping my legs in one of his tight bear hugs.

"Good evening, Bella," he said very formally, grinning up at me.

"Hey, Finley. Hey, Isla," I said carefully. I knew that Isla was not as open and easy-going as her brother, but her genuine and shy smile let me know she was not going to turn on her heels and run away.

"Hey," I finally said, a little out of breath, to Jacob whose eyes were fixed on Finley wrapped around my legs.

"Hey," he then answered, stepping closer and hugging me shortly, ignoring the fact that his son was still between us.

"Come in," I said. Finley let go of me and jumped eagerly into my apartment.

"You can put your jackets on those hooks there," I explained, pointing to the scarce coat hooks my apartment had to offer.

While the kids dropped their backpacks into a corner and fumbled with their zippers, I closed the door and turned to Jacob who was still looking at me.

"These are for you," he said almost shyly, holding out the bright bouquet. "Isla picked them," he added quietly, and I laughed.

"Thank you, they're beautiful." I took them out of his hands, our skin touching for a second, and I realized how much I already missed the feel of his skin.

Two things stopped me from putting the flowers into a vase then. First, I could not help but stare a little as Jacob took off his leather jacket, my bottom lip immediately wandering between my teeth. Second, I felt something picking at the hem of my shirt, and I turned around to see Isla standing behind me, her eyes filled with something that reminded me of fear.

"I made this for you," she almost whispered, holding up a folded piece of paper. Knowing that my size must scare her even more than the fact that she barely knew me, I knelt down and took the paper from her tiny hands.

"Thank you so much," I said with a wide smile as I unfolded the paper. It was a picture of a sunny summer day at the beach, and it was obvious that Isla was very fond of using colours.

She seemed relieved as I thanked her and carefully brushed my hand against her head, letting my fingers run through her dark hair.

"I have one, too!" Finley squeaked and Isla rolled her eyes – apparently something she did frequently around her brother. Finley, being braver and not as quiet as his sister, jumped around my throat, almost knocking me on my back. I squealed and caught my balance just in time.

"This is you," he said proudly as I eyed the picture – a rather squeezed and unhappy-looking version of myself grimacing at me from the paper.

"Thank you, Finley," I said. I was feeling bolder with him, and so I lightly kissed him on his cheek. He blushed adorably.

"You two look so great tonight," I said, unable to suppress the fuzzy feeling that washed over me at the sight of the two. Isla in her blue skirt, white, knitted jacket with bright butterflies and ladybugs embroidered on it, and Finley in his red-striped shirt, looking like a little gentleman.

"I couldn't keep them from dressing up," Jacob laughed next to us sitting on the floor. I grinned up at him.

Realizing that I still had the flowers in my hand, I quickly dropped them on a counter, wanting to show my guests around before putting them in a vase.

"So, it's really not big but… enough for me. Ehm.. Here is the bathroom, just in case," I said, pointing at the door closest to us before stepping further into the apartment, Jacob and the kids following me.

"Well, kitchen and living room. My bedroom is behind that door. That's really about it," I said with a smile, almost a little embarrassed by how tiny everything was.

"So many pictures!" Isla said with her quiet and thoughtful voice, staring at my brick wall full of memories.

"Yes. And do you know what? Yours are going there right now," I said, walking over to the wall and pinning the two pictures they had given me between the wall and two picture frames.

Both of their faces shone with joy as I turned around.

"Actually, you could sit down already. Dinner should be finished any minute now," I said, pointing towards my dining table. Both Finley and Isla immediately jumped in the direction of the table. However, they did not sit down, but rather stared out of the large window while mumbling and chattering.

"Anything I can help you with?" Jacob asked politely.

"No, it's fine. It's all finished. Just sit down; I'll be with you in a second."

He nodded, and I rushed past him, the feeling of having him here in my home so surreal that I needed a minute for myself.

Filling a glass vase with water, I put the beautiful flowers in it, my face burying inside the bouquet for a second, inhaling the delicate scent and admiring the soft touch of the petals against my cheeks.

As I put the lasagne on four plates, I heard Jacob explaining several sights outside to his children. The entire time I could not help but smile to myself, and I almost burned myself with the hot pan in the process.

"What do you want to drink?" I asked as I put the flowers in the middle of the table and rushed the few steps back into the kitchen to get the plates. I put them on the table while Jacob pushed Finley's and Isla's chairs closer.

"Orange juice!" Finley squeaked excitedly, almost falling off his chair due to his flourishing movements.

"Finley," Jacob said with authority in his voice as he sat down next to the empty chair that would be mine.

"Sorry, Dad," Finley said, his body stilling immediately and his blush from earlier returning.

"Orange juice, _please_."

"I want the same, please," Isla said, playfully nudging her brother with her elbow.

"Could you mix it with water? They always get a stomach ache from drinking it pure," Jacob explained.

"Of course. What would you like?"

"Water should be fine."

"Sure?"

"Yep."

"Lasagne!" I heard Finley squeak again as he obviously realized what we would be having for dinner.

I returned with the glasses and sat down, feeling slightly tense next to Jacob but not necessarily in a bad way. I felt warm and comfortable around him. It was some kind of expectant anxiety which made me shiver every few minutes.

"Enjoy your meal!" I said, seeing how impatient Finley and Isla already were and with a mumbled _Thank you_ they dug into their food.

"Thank you," Jacob repeated, directing it at me and I blushed a little when we looked into each other's eyes. "It smells fantastic."

"Thank you," I said, smiling gratefully before taking my fork and tasting what I thought to be the best lasagne I had ever made.

We ate in silence except for Jacob occasionally reminding his children to sit straighter or to _stop eating like a caveman_. Ours gazes met a few times, and I felt more and more comfortable and at ease, the entire situation effortless and as easy as a sunny afternoon at the beach.

"That was soooo good," Finley said as he finished, leaning back in his chair and theatrically rubbing his belly.

"Thank you, I'm glad you liked it," I said, finished myself and taking a sip of my cherry juice.

"Daddy can't cook lasagne," Isla said. Jacob put on a mock pout which looked ridiculously hilarious.

"Do you still copy, Bella?" Finley asked completely off topic, but I welcomed his erratic thoughts, and I laughed.

"You left quite an impression on him. He wants to do the same thing you do when he is big," Jacob said wisely, and I grinned.

"Yes, I still copy," I admitted. "But that's not all I do."

"What else?"

"Well, I file. That means I put many many papers in a certain order and put them into something called an archive. That's a room with hundreds of those papers. And I have to talk to many people on the telephone."

"Do you have pets?"

This boy was fantastic. He could jump from one topic to the other without effort and always with the purest expression of curiosity in his eyes. It was so different from the conversations I was used to – with the exception of my mother, maybe, who still had the ability to speak of things with the enthusiasm of a child. It made me feel sad that most adults lose that capability with age. Thinking about it, it was a horrible price to pay.

"No, I'm not allowed to have pets in here," I explained, swirling my hand through the air.

"Daddy says we're not allowed, too," Finley said, his lips forming a pout again, and he looked to his father, who was smirking.

"Yes, that's what I say." It was obvious that there was no discussion allowed on this topic, either.

"What would you like to have?" I asked, beginning to pile the empty plates.

"Puppy!" Finley squealed in excitement, once again almost falling out of his chair. Isla grabbed her brother's arm to steady him. "And I would call him Cookie. And he will be _thiiis_ big," he continued, ignoring his momentary loss of balance, raising his arms to show how big of a dog he wanted. "He would sleep in my bed, and we would play football all day."

I stood up with the plates in my hand, grinning at Jacob who rolled his eyes at his son's very vivid plans for the future.

"Let me help you with that," he said, pushing back his chair to help me. I raised my free hand.

"No, you stay here. I'll get…" I turned back to Finley and Isla who were looking at me curiously after I had paused mid-sentence.

"The dessert," I finished. Seeing the sparkle in the children's eyes was one of those priceless moments in life.

"What dessert?" Finley asked, his voice and body tense with anticipation.

"Surprise," I said with a wink and brought the empty plates to the sink, placing them there before going to my bedroom. A strange feeling of anticipation was running through myself. It was the same sensation I often had on someone's birthday, eager for them to finally unwrap their presents.

Taking the jello from the windowsill and removing the plastic wrap, I went back into the living room, Jacob smiling at me with a twinkle in his eyes while Finley and Isla practically jumped in their chair.

"Jello!" they both yelled excitedly and I placed it before them, quickly getting the vanilla sauce out of the fridge. The two of them started eating quicker than I could sit down again Jacob was about to say something, but I shook my head, indicating it was okay.

Already pretty full from the lasagne and not too fond of jello, I only ate a small portion, admiring how eager Finley and Isla munched their plates.

"I think it's enough now," Jacob said after they had finished their second portion, him and me long finished and only busy with looking at them.

"Daddy!" Finley cried, but Jacob shook his head with a serious face, and Finley dropped his spoon in defeat.

"You know, I can put the rest in a box and you can take it home with you so you can have the rest tomorrow," I said, looking rather at Jacob than the children, seeking approval. He grinned, and the children were lost in a rush of _thank you_´s and excited squeals.

"What time is it?" Isla asked when their voices had calmed down and Jacob checked his watch.

"Seven thirty."

Isla's face fell a little, and I felt bad all of a sudden, sensing that they were missing out on something because they were here.

"What is it?" I asked Jacob.

"They're allowed to watch TV on weekends. And _Babe_ started fifteen minutes ago," he explained, his eyes trying to tell me that it was no big deal.

"If it's okay with you, they could watch it – I do have a TV," I said laughing. At my words, I could see Finley and Isla tensing again, waiting for their father's decision.

"That would be okay?"

"Sure," I said and stood up, scanning my couch for the remote.

"Here," I said, handing it to Jacob. "I'll clean up."

Finley now did fall from his chair in excitement but before either of us could check on him, he was on his small feet again, acting as if nothing had happened, apparently doing some kind of happy dance in my living room. Isla smiled brightly at me as I collected the plates and carried them to the kitchen, dropping them next to the rest of the dishes by the sink.

Rummaging my cabinets for a box, I found a turquoise-colored one, dumping the debris of jello into it. Jacob put his children on my couch, taking off their shoes, telling them not to make a mess and I laughed. His children behaved so well, and the manners they had were more than I expected from a four year old, yet he still admonished them.

Plunging the plug into my sink I let the water start to run, my fingers carefully sticking underneath the jet of water testing the temperature, enjoying the lukewarm liquid enveloping my fingers. I turned my head when the sound of the TV set in and watched Finley zapping through the channels proudly. The remote was almost as long as his forearm. Jacob cleaned the corner of Isla's mouth with a tissue – under erratic protest from her side.

Smiling, I turned back towards my task, dropping some of my lily-scented dish liquid into the slowly rising water. I started to carefully drop the dishes into the water.

"I found it!" Finley called victoriously, and I heard Jacob chuckling.

"Sshh!" Isla hissed. Soon the only sounds to hear were those coming from the television, the soft splashing of the water in the sink and shuffling on the couch, one of the kids – most likely Finley – obviously not very satisfied with the sitting position.

Suddenly, a very warm hand pressed against my lower back, the warmth radiating from there immediately causing me to shiver slightly. When another hand gently pulled my hair away from my neck, placing it across my other shoulder, fingertips feathering against my sensitive neck like a butterfly, I let my eyelids fall closed. I breathed deeply.

"Are you sure you don't want help here?" Jacob whispered, his close proximity to me allowed his warm breath to fan across my skin, letting the flimsy hairs stand straight again.

His fingers started to brush against my back, the tender touch leaving swirls of warmth on my covered skin.

"You could help me dry these," I managed to say, my voice whispery and quiet, while my hands nervously waved towards the pile of dripping, foamy dishes.

"Okay," he whispered, the back of his free hand gently brushing against my cheek before he let go of me entirely. I missed his touch immediately. Being close to him, the warmth and the electrifying tingle that he caused in me, and yet the ease and joy everything ignited in me, was something I had never noticed I missed, but now that I did, I never wanted it to stop.

I handed him a dishtowel, our fingers brushing shortly once again, both of us looking down at them before our eyes met, the sparkle in Jacob's burning in my heart.

Wordlessly, we started our work, the only sound was once again the TV, the water splashing and Finley's bumpy shuffling behind us. Never before had I met a person with whom I could be in silence like this. Normally, silence scared me, the noise it caused in my ears, the dull drumming of my heart, the pressure on my temples, the unease. With Jacob, silence was easy and light, both of us enjoying each other's company without words necessary to keep us entertained.

The only thing that bothered me were the many questions that lingered on my tongue, the urge to really get to know this man – questions I could not ask just now, that were inappropriate or rash. But even worse than the lingering questions was the urge to be closer to him, being deprived of physical contact for way too long, the shivers a simple touch could elicit waking up parts of myself I had long forgotten and buried.

"Why don't you have a dishwasher?" Jacob asked after we quickly finished our work.

"I had all the money saved for it, but then my car broke, and I needed to fix that first," I said, remembering my fury back then.

"Next time you have problems with your car you can just call me," he said, and I looked at him rather confused, vaguely fearing one of those manly outburst about cars.

"I'm a mechanic," he added. I understood and laughed at my feather-brained reaction.

I opened the cabinet door for the plates and jumped a little, pushing myself up to sit on the counter, one by one piling the plates back into their places. Jacob started laughing at me sitting on the counter like a child, but I just grinned at him. After the last plate landed in the cabinet with a rather loud clang, Jacob stepped in front of me so my knees touched his stomach.

I nervously looked over his shoulder towards the couch were Isla and Finely sat, both of their eyes practically glued to the TV screen, their mouth gaping open, the wheels behind their foreheads working on overdrive. Tearing my eyes away from them, I looked back at Jacob and then switched momentarily back to them before finally focussing on him entirely.

"It's okay," he whispered, his fingers gently trailing across my cheekbone and pushing some of my wavy strands behind my ear, all the while smiling at me.

"I like your hair better this way," he said, and I smiled, another blush tinting my already burning cheeks.

We stared at each other. Jacob's hand lingered around my ear, the warmth from his skin sucking into my every pore, every muscle in my body tense from the anticipation for something I knew would not come. Not tonight.

Jacob apparently realized the same thing. He sighed quietly in frustration and dropped his hand, letting it brush my knee before he stepped aside to lean his back against the counter next to me.

"So, what exactly do you do for that magazine?" he asked, his voice trembling slightly. I knew he dreaded this as much as I did – although I had to admit I was thankful that Finely and Isla were nearby, keeping me from taking steps that might lead me into an abyss I was not ready to fall into. Not yet. Maybe never again.

"Well, I'm the assistant of the editor-in-chief's assistant," I said, making it sound especially important with mock enthusiasm.

"Sounds like the most important position to be in," Jacob laughed with that irresistible boyish grin, making my heart flutter in delight.

"Yeah, absolutely," I said, sighing. "I really do copy all day long, call people and lie to them about why the editor won't talk to them now, filing stuff, walking around all day and the most important and responsible task: occasionally – or not so occasionally – getting my boss stuff from the cafeteria and therefore having to sacrifice my own lunch break," I continued in a rush, glad to finally have released some of the steam my work had boiled inside of me all this time.

"Couldn't you find another job?"

"I'm not really…a very risk-taking person, you know?" I laughed without humour, looking down at my feet dangling in the air.

"That couldn't have been your dream job then, could it?"

I snorted at that rhetorical question and shook my head.

"Then what is?"

Looking up again, I saw the honest curiosity and interest in Jacob's eyes, and it made me feel more self-confident and happier to see that he really cared about this and wanted to know more, wanted to get to know _me_ as much as I wanted to get to know him.

"I majored in English literature. I always wanted to write."

"About what?"

"Things that matter. Not the newest diet or handbags or nail polish or the _top five pro's and con's to falling in love with your best friend_. Although I don't even get to write about that now. All I ever write is post-its for my boss," I said with sadness in my voice, the longing for my long lost dream as fresh as the air streaming through an opened window.

I sighed, feeling bad for dragging the mood down, but the next second I felt Jacob's hand back on my knee, his thumb stroking against the denim of my jeans. I looked up to see him smile reassuringly at me, trying to encourage me.

"And you? You said you're a mechanic?" I asked, trying to sound as calm and at ease as possible. But lying had never been a gift of mine. A flaw that had gotten in my way far too many times in my life

"Yes," he said, obviously not buying my sudden change of mood but cooperating nonetheless. "But there's not really much to tell," he said laughing. "I have a garage right by my house which is good. I don't have to go far, and it's easier to take breaks to drive the kids places, you know?"

"It's your own garage?" I asked, not really having expected that.

"Yes," he answered proudly. "And it's the only garage around where I live, so business is well. At least, good enough for a living."

The conversation went easier after my initial low mood, and we spent the next hour in my kitchen talking about everything that came into our minds. My need to get to know Jacob was easing during this hour, and I felt more and more comfortable around him.

He was originally from a Quileute reservation in Washington and had two older sisters, Rachel and Rebecca, who were twins. He was indeed obsessed with cars – not just because of his profession – but had rebuilt the Rabbit he drove as a teenager. He loved cheaply produced horror movies, because he thought they were hilarious. Growing up in the rainiest area of the States had created an affection for damp and rainy weather in him. He also loved beaches and the sea, woods and hiking, cliff diving and thunderstorms. His favorite color was brown, and he said that he liked his soda warm instead of the usual ice-cold.

I could have listened to his voice for the rest of my life; the deep, husky tone such a pleasure to listen to – almost like a lullaby. I started to think of his interest in me – which I had adored so much earlier – as strangely annoying to some extent, because it meant that he was quiet, and I had to talk. But I willingly answered all his questions. We ended up in a heated discussion about climate change when _Babe_ ended, and Finley and Isla came jumping into the kitchen babbling about the movie without a pause.

Jacob threw an apologetic look at me, but I only smiled and silently let him know that it was no problem. I was attentively listening to a summary of a movie I had seen countless times before, the entire thing sounding so much different from a child's perspective, and I admired how deep Isla and Finley already grasped the meaning of certain things.

Half an hour later, and under much protest from Finley and Isla, I watched my guests get dressed. Hoping to calm them down a little, I handed Isla the box with the jello, and both of them fell silent, thanking me and eyeing the box like starving lions.

I patted the top of their heads, Finley once again wrapping his arms around me like tentacles. When he let go of me, I turned to face Jacob, dressed in his leather jacket. I was close to protesting like the children – I did not want him to leave. Ever.

Jacob smiled before chastely wrapping his arms around me in a friendly hug. However, on our side turning away from the children – who were busier with their jello than with us – he brushed the tip of his nose against my earlobe.

"Can I call you later?" he whispered, the warm breath against my ear sending a tingle throughout my entire neck. I only managed to nod, longing to pull him back to me when he retreated with another warm and caring smile.

"Goodbye," he said, grabbing his children's backpacks.

I opened the door and managed to press out a very weak _goodbye_, waving as Isla and Finley jumped through the hallway outside my apartment, Jacob having to grab Finley rather roughly by his arm as he threatened to just jump down the stairs.

Closing the door, I could hear their faint chatter for another minute before the entire house was enveloped in silence, making me feel uncomfortable again.

For the first time since I moved in here, I began to feel _alone_. In my own home.

Something was already missing.

* * *

I'm back from a very exhausting but also very amazing, funny and impressive graduation trip and I certainly hope the little wait was worth it. Since I got many many questions from you readers concerning the question how Jacob became a single father, who the children's mother is, ect. - all those questions will be answered in the next chapter.


	9. part 9

9.

The silence was deafening, the exact kind of muteness I dreaded so much. The high-pitched echo in my ears was something my mind might as well be making up to trick me like the way my own breaths sounded like blows of wind or my heartbeat drumming inside my head, in my wrist and all the way down to my toes.

But there was something slightly different about this silence. I was expecting a sound. A sound I knew would make my heart skip a beat. Shrill. Surprised, although I knew it was coming.

It was what I imagined witnessing a car crash would be like. You see it happening and all you can do is wait for the bone-crushing, lethal _bang_.

I felt tense, sitting crossed-legged on my bed and letting my fingers trace nervous patterns on the bare skin of my thigh. The skin still felt tumid from the long bath I had just taken to calm my raging nerves. My hair lay sticky against my neck, the damp warmth radiating from it causing tiny beads of sweat to erupt on the back of my neck.

Silence before the storm was the only way I could describe what I felt like in this moment, waiting for the inevitable.

It was coming. Any second could be the one.

I was afraid. Afraid of the threat this situation held. The nervous excitement, the fluttering in my heart, the dull ache in my stomach. It had been so long since I had last felt all that and the outcome back then had been nothing short of disastrous.

Could I let it happen again? Could I take the risk? Was I brave enough to give this a shot? Would I survive another shattered heart?

My teeth caught my bottom lip, carefully sinking into the soft flesh, my tongue recognising the slightly metal-like taste of my skin. I had been too evasive for too long. Fear had deprived me of anything close to what I was feeling. Too long had I watched and witnessed people around me falling in love, smiling with the ease of a Sunday morning. All the while, I had been thinking that my chances had passed, that this ship had sailed long ago, leaving me behind, standing at the marina watching others sail into the sunrise.

But maybe… Maybe if I was brave enough and just let things happen for once in my life without over thinking everything, my ship would turn around and sail back to me. It would most certainly be a long journey, considering how far it had already sailed without me. But maybe the outcome would be worth the effort and the wait.

I could not say whether or not I was ready for this, but just the memory of Jacob's smile made me feel like I could not wait for the ship to sail back into my life. More than once since Jacob had left with his children, I had caught myself with closed eyes, lost in daydreams filled with sunshine, a house by a lake with red blinds and a vegetable garden, the laughter of children mixed with the colourful singing of birds, two vague figures sitting on the porch…

It was the first time in my life that I felt such a longing. Never before had such a peaceful and almost painfully ordinary vision entered my mind. My thoughts had always been worry and doubt, never a concrete wish for a future. Rather than forming those vivid dreams, I had been focussed on the _near _future. Things I wanted to keep. What I would do this year. Not next. Never more.

Every time I caught myself having those visions, I wondered whether Jacob caused this change in me or if this was the natural behaviour of the new Bella I had become over the years. This was most certainly not the reaction the person I used to be once would have had.

But was this still me?

My line of thought was interrupted by the one sound I had feared and anticipated so much since my front door had fallen closed and the faint laughter of Isla and Finley had diminished.

The shrill ringing of my phone made my heart skip a beat and rushed adrenaline through my system. Quickly, as if there was a marathon to run and I had to press the green button before the countdown was over, I grabbed the phone which had been lying next to me for over an hour and pushed said button with trembling fingers. The green phone pictured on it was almost invisible from how many times my sweaty fingers had wiped away the color. Soon, there would just be a grey button left. And in the not so distant future, it would turn transparent white.

"Isabella Swan," I said, a little out of breath as if I really had run a marathon.

"Hey Bella," Jacob's voice sounded from the other end. I could feel my heart flutter again, like the hummingbirds I had so loved as a child. I could still see my childhood windowsill, on which I had stuffed dozens of little figures – fabric, ceramic, plastic, glass – of hummingbirds. I even had a poster of one mid-flight over my bed. A little rush of sadness overcame me as I realized that I had not remembered that old childhood obsession for many years. I had almost lost it.

"Sorry that I couldn't call earlier. But the kids were pretty insistent on eating the rest of the jello before going to bed and we had a little war over here."

I laughed, feeling the sadness already pass at the sound of Jacob's soothing voice.

"Who won?"

"Hey, how can you question my authority? Of course, _I_ won."

I giggled.

"Sorry."

"You better be," Jacob said with suppressed laughter before continuing with a much more serious voice. "I wanted to thank you."

"For what?" I asked, my fingers trailing around the scratchy, dry skin of my knees, pinching here and there.

"For tonight. I had a really great time. I… don't usually get out of my house a lot aside from work. It was nice to spend the evening with someone new."

I was mesmerized to hear that shy edge to his voice again, very much like to that afternoon in Angela's bathroom. Goose bumps shivered down my spine as my mind dragged me into the vivid memory of those few minutes. The heat, the gentleness. The feeling of someone close to me.

"No problem. I had a nice time, too."

I sounded pathetically evasive, but I had no clue what to say. Where to start? How to thank him for something I was not even sure of myself?

"And it really was no problem that the kids were with us? I mean… I don't know." He was stuttering, probably realizing that his words could be taken differently from what he meant by them.

"It's really no big deal. I really like them," I said quickly, but honestly. Maybe, for once, I could be the one to save the conversation. If just for a second.

"They like you, too. Very much. They never really had to deal with this before. You know, a… woman," he laughed. "Maybe that's a good thing, though. It's new to them. They are not focussed on anyone else."

"Finley seems really enthusiastic," I giggled, remembering the little boy's flushed face and tentacle-like grip.

"He's quite... active, yeah," Jacob laughed and I joined him, feeling strangely light-headed after waiting hours full of tension.

"I suppose he needs a mother-figure even more than Isla does. That's why he gets very attached to women so quickly. Always has," Jacob explained, his voice now serious. There was that bitterness present in his voice which I had heard and seen in his eyes the first time we met. I remembered my curiosity back then, my longing to find out what made this stranger so sad.

"Can I ask what happened?"

"What? What do you mean?" Jacob asked with confusion in his husky voice.

I hesitated, unsure whether or not I was in a position to ask the questions lingering on my tongue. But then I remembered my ship, my lost spirit and will. Maybe it was time to take risks. What did I have to lose?

"Well… you're a single dad. One doesn't see that very often."

A moment of silence and I felt fear boil inside me. But there was a positive side to that fear. It was fear mixed with the sureness that I had tried something. That there was nothing to regret.

"Oh, that… Well…," Jacob said slowly, and I imagined him with an old-fashioned telephone, his fingers curling around the wire to distract him from the heavy conversation.

"You don't have to talk about it if you don't want to. I was just curious. But it's okay –"

"No, no. It's okay. It's nothing I wouldn't talk about. Okay… So where do I start… Well, her name was Nessie –"

"Nessie? Like…. Loch Ness?"

I wanted to slap myself for interrupting him, but I could not stop the words from bursting out of my mouth. Jacob laughed shortly, huffing before answering me.

"Well, her name was really Vanessa. But nobody ever called her that. She was in my History class in High School and… you could say she had the biggest crush on me. But I didn't feel the same way about her. It wasn't that I didn't like her – just not in _that_ way, you know? I was more after Becca Stevens. She was… that one girl everybody was after."

"Yeah, I can practically see her in front of me," I said, the mental picture of Jessica Stanley immediately entering my mind.

"Well… Senior year and prom came up and, because I knew I stood no chance with Becca, I decided to take the safe path. I just really didn't want to show up alone. So I asked Nessie. That's why I don't really consider it a date, either."

"That was actually pretty mean."

"I think she knew that I didn't really think of her that way. But she was a very nice and cute girl. Well… prom, Senior year, graduation only an inch away and some alcohol… turned out not to be the best mixture."

Jacob's voice trailed off into silence and for the first time since I had met him, his age crept into my consciousness. He looked much older than he was, I had guessed that. He had to be two or three years younger than me… in his early twenties.

"Yeah, I think I can imagine the rest of that night. How old were you?" I asked, trying to sound casual.

"We were both nineteen. It just happened. Things were awkward after that. Neither of us really knew how to talk to the other anymore. But then… a few weeks later, she suddenly stood in front of my door like… here I am… here we are. I felt responsible for everything and my dad urged me to stand in for what I had done and so… she moved in with us because we had an empty room after my sisters moved out. And her parents weren't really supportive. We were sort of a couple from then on, but not really. After a while – or after she got to know me better – it turned out I wasn't really what Nessie wanted. But there she was, pregnant with twins and a father who was willing to take responsibility. I even asked her to marry me so we were doing things the proper way. And somehow I even loved her. I mean, she was my babies' mom, right? You can only love that person."

His words, combined with the soft and caring expression that seemed permanently attached to his face, allowed me to think that Jacob could pretty much love every person in this world. And it was a miracle to me how someone could not do so in return.

"Did you? Marry?"

"No. She did agree but we wanted to wait until after the babies were born. And when that day came… It was so extraordinary. I don't think I've ever been more afraid in my life but it was… magical. In a very twisted way. You know, when the doctor put Isla in my arms and she was all bloody and just… It was the most fantastic feeling in the world. Holding her in my arms. So tiny and knowing that she needed me. It was special. I can't really describe it."

"I think I can image that."

Blurry debris from my visions flashed through my brain, the laughter of children. The house… Maybe _my_ children and _my_ house?

"But you have to experience it to really understand. To actually feel that. It's unlike anything I had ever felt before. Things were actually going pretty well. I mean, it was exhausting and terrifying and I didn't sleep and I cried because I was so helpless now and again but… at the end of the day, I had my babies and their mom and we were happy. Or, at least, that was what I thought."

Jacob's voice increased in bitterness. During his words I had been sucked into a happy story of a happy family. Young, but making the best of the situation. But the change in his voice bitterly reminded me of the fact that there would inevitably be a turning point in the story. That there would be no more happy family in the end.

"And then one night – about a month after they were born – I woke up because Finley was crying. I looked for Nessie but she wasn't in the bed so I took him and walked him around, looking for her so she could feed him. He was always hungry. But she wasn't there. Nowhere in the house. Isla woke up from Finley's crying and so I stood there with two crying, tiny babies in my arms and then I found a note on the kitchen table – hastily written and all smeared. It said: _I'm sorry. Thank you for everything. Love them for me. Vanessa._"

We were both silent for a minute. The only sounds we could hear were each other's breathing and the faint rush of the phone line. Realization started to sink slowly into my brain. Like the ticking of a clock.

"She just ran off without warning?" I asked, horrified. Shocked.

"Yes."

Jacob sounded dry, like he talked about something that tore his heart apart but, at the same time, he had found peace with what happened. Something I had never been able to do.

"Did you ever… try to find her? Do you know where she is?"

He sighed deeply before answering.

"No. I haven't seen or heard from her since that night. I guess I could have somehow found out where she is but… this was her choice and it's her life. And I want her to be happy. It's probably best when she isn't with us when she can't be happy in this life. I live mine and I let her live her's."

It sounded much too wise for his young age, much too mature. Much too sad. This was something people should only be dealing with once they reached a certain stage of mental age – no one should reach that age _because_ of such things happening to them.

Tears were tickling my eyelids, some stray ones already sticking to my lower lashes, forming a glistering web.

I quickly decided to change the subject, to leave Nessie where Jacob had decided to put her. In the past. In his memory.

"When did you move here? I mean… that couldn't have been easy. On your own."

"Yeah, it wasn't. But I knew that where I came from, there was nothing left for me. No real perspective and just a lot of old memories I wasn't too fond of. So, I knew I had to leave. They were six months old when I came here. I wanted to do it when they were young so they wouldn't have to…We lived in a one-room-apartment the first few months and I had to take them to work with me and everything was just…But they were babies and… they did not realize the whole situation like they would now. And now… things are going quite fine. It's still hard and we're always short on money – but I try hard so they don't see that. And my father is a great support. Even though he's not here. But he knows what he is talking about. I mean, after all, he did raise three kids on his own."

My forehead wrinkled in confusion. A few hours before, Jacob had told me quite a lot about his childhood, but he had never told me that he was raised by his father alone. Then again, it now became clear to me that he had never mentioned his mother, either.

"Why is that?"

"My mother died when I was six."

A sharp pain rushed through my entire body. I felt such compassion for him after hearing everything he had to go through in his young life. Hearing his story made me feel incredibly guilty for turning into something like a hermit, with no perspective and nearly no friends, a broken family and no love for life just because something happened to me that was nothing when compared to Jacob's fate.

"Oh… I'm sorry," I almost whispered, fearing I would burst into tears should I raise my voice.

"That was long ago. But now I know both sides. You now... Growing up with a single parent and being a single parent."

"I only know one…"

"What happened?"

"My parents got divorced. Well, my Mom made a run for it, as well. When I was one year old. But she took me with her."

I never liked talking about my parents. Especially my mother of whom I always had to take more care of than she did for me, or about my father who I barely knew apart from occasional short visits.

"And?"

"And what?" I asked, mirroring Jacob's confusion from earlier.

"What else?"

"What else is there supposed to be?"

"You asked me about my story, now I'd like to hear yours."

"What makes you think there is a story?" I asked, feeling afraid of what might come. What I would have to face one day. Talking about my past. Putting into words what had happened.

"Come on, everybody has a story. That one important story. And…" He trailed off into silence as if he was unsure or ashamed to continue his sentence.

"What?" I pushed a little, eager for every little glimpse of hope to turn the conversation away from the question lingering between us.

"You know, you are funny, intelligent, pretty… and you are on your own. I'm sure there must be masses of guys who are after you. And you…There must be a reason that you are so… bitter."

The initial blush that had tinted my cheeks after Jacob's compliments immediately vanished at the sound of his last word.

"You think I'm bitter?"

"Yes. You hardly ever smile and when you do it seems… fake. No, strike that. Rather forced. Like you really don't want to. So, what's the reason for that? What's your story?"

I stared straight ahead in the direction of my door, yet not seeing anything. The only thing I could do was hope for something, anything to happen. For a stranger's voice to answer the questions. For the phone line to go dead. For an earthquake to distract us.

Jacob, _my_ stranger, had only known me for a few days, had spent no more than a couple of hours in my presence. Days and hours in which I had felt more excited and alive than in the past five years. He did not even know my birthday and yet he had figured out what was probably the most significant thing about me. He seemed to understand me better than anyone had in the last couple of years.

Without knowing me, he had figured me out.

"I'm sorry; you really don't have to tell me if you don't want to. Sorry, I'm just curious. I didn't mean to push you or anything," Jacob said, his words coming as quickly as a waterfall.

I needed a few seconds to understand and to realize that my long silence had probably led Jacob think that I took his question negatively. I did not. I might not be able to answer him…yet, but the sheer status _unanswered_ did not automatically make the question a bad one.

"No, no, it's fine. Really. It's okay. I asked you the same question," I assured him, trying to sound at ease and even managing to conjure a slight laugh.

"I'm really sorry," Jacob repeated, sounding awfully remorseful.

"It's really okay to ask. It's just…"

"I won't get an answer," Jacob finished for me, his voice much lighter than it had been seconds prior.

"Yeah, I guess. It's just… I don't usually talk about it. To anyone. It's nothing personal."

"Don't worry, I'm not offended," Jacob said. I could almost feel his boyish grin tickling the edges of my mouth.

"That's good to hear. I just feel bad because you answered the question and now I'm the one to keep silent. Okay, I have an idea. You get to ask a different question. One you would never ask me because it's… inappropriate," I suggested, laughing and at the same time feeling a little overwhelmed by my boldness.

Jacob joined in my laughter and for a few minutes we did nothing but that. My stomach started to ache uncomfortably and a small tear escaped the corner of my left eye.

"Okay then…Well, what could I ask… Anything?"

"Anything you want," I confirmed, feeling the anticipation of what was to come. I knew Jacob would never actually ask anything _inappropriate_. That would not be the person I considered him to be.

"What does your hair look like right now?"

Jacob sounded shy again, as if he was afraid I would just hang up the phone in answer to his question.

Although I had not expected a question like this, and was rather taken aback by it, there was no hesitation in my voice as I answered.

"I washed it. It's down and still rather damp."

Silence.

"Why would you want to know that?"

Silence. Then an uncomfortable and embarrassed sigh.

"I really liked your hair today. I just… wanted to know if you forced it into that ponytail again. You should wear it down all the time."

I blushed, running my free hand through the damp strands of my hair which still looked almost pitch-black from the water tinting it dark. The smell of strawberries filled my nostrils as I touched one cool strand to the tip of my nose, feeling the silky and smooth sensation.

"I don't know…," I whispered, my eyes closed, lost in the smell and feel of my hair and Jacob's soft, even breathing in my ear.

"I'm being weird, I'm sorry," Jacob mumbled and I giggled.

"No, you're not. And stop apologizing. It makes me feel bad," I said, letting my hair slide smoothly out of my grip.

"Then I won't apologize for making you feel bad. But… I could offer to make up for it," Jacob said hopefully.

"That depends."

We both laughed at the mocking edge of my voice.

"I have a day off on Wednesday, so I was going to take the kids to cinema in the afternoon. You could join us. I know it's lame, but –"

"No, it's not. Really. I'd love to come," I quickly interrupted him.

"Really?"

"Sure. I don't even remember the last time I was in a cinema," I laughed, honestly not remembering it. The vague feeling overcame me that I just did not want to remember, but I could not allow that feeling to form itself solidly in my mind.

"You could come over for dinner afterwards," Jacob continued. I had the suspicion that this offer was not as spontaneous as he had intended it to sound. I suppressed a giggle as I imagined the theatrical image of Jacob practicing this speech in front of a mirror, single words noted on a pink post-it.

"I would like that. If it's okay, of course. I don't want the kids to think I'm taking your free time away from them. Stealing their daddy or something."

"Oh, don't worry about that. They'll freak out if they hear you agreed. To be honest, this was Finley's idea."

I burst out laughing, the image of a practicing Jacob spiralling and blurring in my mind until Finley became clear, clinging to his father's hand, begging and pleading.

"Well, then," I said out of breath.

I heard Jacob yawn in the background and felt bad for keeping him up this long. Still, I would much rather talk to him the entire night than lie in the darkness and emptiness of my bedroom.

"Sounds like someone needs a bit of sleep," I said, trying to hide the remorse in my voice.

"Yeah, probably. You finish work at 5 right?"

"Yes."

"You could just drive over to Angela's place after work on Wednesday and then we'll go from there. Would that be alright?"

"That would be great."

"Okay. I guess this is goodnight then," Jacob said calmly and I could only hope he felt the same remorse I did.

"Yeah. Goodnight. And see you on Wednesday," I answered, smiling uselessly into the receiver. I had the vague feeling Jacob could see it somehow.

"Goodnight, Bella. I… can't wait to see you again," Jacob said nervously, but before I had the chance to answer the line went dead.

My mind was spiralling in insane patterns while the _beep beep beep_ of the phone line echoed dully in my ears.

Sighing, I sank into my pillow, dropping the phone onto my bedside table.

I felt light-headed, nervous and afraid all at the same time.

Finally, I had something to look forward to again. Something to excite me. To let me know that I was still alive, that all the comatose nerves in me were slowly awakening. That my ship had heard my call for help and turned around.

* * *

I hope you finally have some answers to all your questions on Jacob's past. If not, don't hesitate to ask me, but there will of course be more revelations in the course of the story.


	10. part 10

10.

I could feel the change spreading inside of me with every move I made; in my eagerness to get out of bed in the morning, in the vibration of my lips as I hummed a song while getting dressed, and also the daring force in my foot as I pressed the gas pedal just a bit further than usual. I felt feather light as my legs and feet carried me into my office - he last place on earth I wanted to step into on any day of the week. Still, everything seemed so much brighter this morning, much friendlier. As if someone had finally pulled the dusty curtains aside and let the early sunlight flood the room.

Dropping my purse on the floor, I sank into my chair, pulling off my jacket with a little complication. My arm got stuck somewhere along the way. Typical.

"Morning, Bella," Eric, one of our photographers, said with a bright smile as he hurried past my desk in the direction of Victoria's office. He was always quick on his feet, running from place to place. To be honest, I could not remember ever having seen him walk before. Sometimes I even wondered if he stopped moving long enough to take a picture. He could not possibly take such beautiful pictures while running past the target.

"Morning," I answered, but he was already out of my sight. I snickered, finally able to wriggle my arm out of my jacket.

Switching on my computer, I knew this would probably be a day like every other; more work than I could handle, no sense in anything, and standing in the cafeteria without the hope of actually getting something to eat for myself. The soft humming of the booting computer lulled me into a trance, my eyes staring blankly ahead. I tried to recall the soft, husky voice, the way my skin had tickled and my heart had raced. The mere memory of the conversation with Jacob caused an unfamiliar sensation of hope to blossom inside of me.

"Morning, Bella."

The sudden interruption of my thoughts caused my elbow to drop from the table and unfortunately, I – in an act of laziness – had been resting my chin on top of my balled fist. The rather inelegant jerk of my head and the sharp scratch of the desk against my skin caused me to whimper quietly. First my finger last week, now my arm and head. By the end of next week, I would probably be in a hospital, in a coma, with no arms and legs.

When the stars in front of my eyes started to vanish, I refocused on Jessica, who stood next to me, tapping her red pumps against the carpet floor.

"Morning," I answered, rubbing the sore skin of my elbow.

"Victoria wants to see you in her office later. After lunch break," Jessica told me, her voice on the edge of annoyance.

I felt fear boiling inside of me. Victoria had never asked me into her office before. Of course, I had been inside that office on multiple occasions, but never because she openly asked me to. This was bad. I could not afford being out of work.

"Why?" I asked, my voice the opposite of Jessica's. Shy, fearful.

"You'll see," she answered shortly, before turning on her heels and prancing away.

"Shit," I whispered, my mind working on overdrive. It had always been like a painting book. Ever since I had to worry about things, since I was old enough to be responsible for anything, I had had too many expectations, like small movies in my head on how things would go. Which answers I might get. Which decision might be made. What the consequences might be.

What if I lost my job? My salary was enough to pay my rent, feed myself and be able to buy myself a little thing here and there. What would I do without it? Sure, Angela would probably allow me to stay at her house for a little while. But what would happen after _a little while_ was not enough anymore? I had nowhere else to go, and no other friends around here.

Once again, the consequences of my change became apparent to me, the fatalities that my withdrawal from life had caused.

I was all alone.

Releasing a long held breath, I shook my head, trying to calm myself. Whatever was going to happen would happen after lunch. Not now. For now, all I could do was type my password and sigh at the sight of the stack of papers on my desk.

Strange how dependent you can become on something you hate.

o

When the clock on my computer switched to twelve, I dropped my pen and leaned back into my chair. My lower back felt sore from my unhealthy posture, the fingers of my right hand stiff from writing hasty notes for hours.

I found myself in a dreadful situation. For once, Jessica had not sent me out to run her errands, and there would be plenty of time for me to actually do something good for myself, like getting one of those delicious salads from the cafeteria, or catch some fresh air in the small court behind the office building, where the sun would now be shining.

But now that I had the possibility to do all that, I felt no desire to get out of my chair.

It was the creeping fear that glued me to my chair, that kept me from moving but an inch. During the last hours, my work had kept me busy, focusing my mind on nothing but the white sheets of paper and the yellow post-its. There had been no room to fear the near future.

But now my refuge was starting to lose its usefulness, its protective shield around my mind.

My eyes focussed on the silver pen in front of me and I wondered if just a second ago would be the last time I ever wrote with it. There was a chance that, if I stood up now, I would only return to this desk to pack my scarce personal things.

But, why? Why should that happen? As much as I hated this job, I had done my best work. Then again, maybe my lack of passion for every sheet of paper, for every paper clip around here, had finally shown. They would have no use for someone who secretly cursed this place.

Sighing, I did the only thing I knew that might comfort me in this moment. It was something I usually would never have done, but the current situation and the fear of loneliness, caused me to reconsider my old behaviour. I needed to start acting like the old Bella, the person I had long considered as collateral damage, buried. Forgotten.

Feeling almost like a criminal, I dialed Angela's number, all the while letting my eyes roam my surroundings. The last thing I needed was for Jessica to make a fuss about me having a private conversation.

The monotone beeping sound of the telephone increased my fear of being caught. The steady rhythm was much like a clock ticking at night, keeping you from falling asleep.

"Angela Cheney."

My forehead wrinkled immediately. I knew this specific sound of Angela's voice, the ragged, slightly breathless edge to her usually very clear but warm voice. She had been crying.

"Hey, Angela," I said plainly. Experience told me that the better option was not to mention anything; act like everything was normal, pretend I had heard nothing, and that I did not know.

"Bella? Is everything alright?"

"Sure."

"You've never called during your lunch break before," Angela said, her compassionate concern for people almost concealing the disturbance in her voice.

I suddenly felt very conflicted. She was obviously having problems, problems I never knew she had to deal with. It seemed like an ironic turn of fate that I was to find out about those problems at the exact moment I needed her to calm my own. I knew the sound of her voice after she had been crying, really crying. Not the way you cry when you watch a sad movie. No. This was the sound of tears shed in utter despair.

It had been awhile since I had last heard her like this and since then, I had been sure that she was coping. That there would be no more tears like that to shed.

Apparently I had not only failed myself, but my best friend, as well.

"Well, I just felt like calling," I said lamely, not wanting to bother Angela with my potentially empty fear.

"Bella, what is going on, for real?"

I sighed. I should have known that I would never get away with a lie.

"Jessica said that Victoria wants to see me after lunch break. I have no clue why," I admitted, tapping the fingers of my unoccupied hand nervously against my thigh.

"Did you miss any deadlines?" Angela asked me, her voice oozing with encouragement. Still, I could make out the façade.

"Never."

"Did you have any kind of trouble?"

"No."

"Can Jessica work without you?"

I snorted, feeling a hint of self-confidence growing inside of me.

"I don't think so. I'm her slave."

"Well, if you didn't sleep with that photographer, I don't think they have any reason to fire you," Angela said reassuringly, laughing just a tiny little bit.

I had to suppress my own laughter, knowing it would give me away immediately.

"Angela! That could have been Alice's line."

"I know," Angela laughed. It was too shallow. "Anyway, I really don't think you need to worry, Bella. Why would they fire you?"

"That's what I keep asking myself," I answered, dread filling my mind once again. I peeked up from my desk, only to see the same group of middle-aged women passing by my desk that I had already seen last week. They shot me the same ungrateful, nasty stare. In the meantime, I had found out that they were trying hard to get advertisement for their cosmetic brand in our magazine.

"Don't do that, Bella. You go in there and don't worry. I'm pretty sure it will all turn out well."

Sighing, I nodded to myself.

"Oh, and Bella?"

"Hmm?" I murmured, my eyes now glued on my computer screen.

"You do know that I am really mad at you? Like, I-could-throw-something-at-you-kinda-mad?"

My insides twisted, my stomach doing a back flip. What had I done? There was no way I could be the reason for her tears…

"What do you mean?" I stuttered, feeling utterly stupid.

"Don't you play dumb with me. I mean, I might not be Alice who wants to know all the, what does she call it? Juicy details? But that does not mean I'm not a little bit curious."

Slowly, realization started to enlighten my foggy mind.

"Oh," I said, feeling a blush tint my cheeks. "Isla and Finley told you, then?"

"Of course, they did. You didn't honestly believe you could keep that a secret, did you?" Angela laughed warmly, making me feel relieved that her anger had only been mocking and that I was not the reason for her tears.

"I didn't even realize there was anything to keep secret, to be honest. It's not a big deal. We only had dinner."

"And, as I understood it, you have a date on Wednesday," Angela said.

"Ehm.. well, yeah. I guess," I stuttered, unsure how to approach this topic.

"Do you think this is going anywhere?" Angela asked curiously, although I could hear the hint of hope behind her question. She had never actually said anything to me – that was just not who she was – but I knew she probably would have liked to introduce me to some men she knew. If she had not known I would refuse, she would have tried her hardest to make me happy.

"I don't know. He's… really nice. I had a great time. But, I'm not thinking that far ahead right now," I tried to explain my insecurity, knowing Angela would not try her hardest to tickle any details out of me. I was very grateful for that.

"He's a really great guy, Bella. Give him a chance. You won't regret it, I'm sure."

"I might," I sighed, checking the time. "I guess I'll get ready. Can I call you tonight and let you know if I'll need shelter anytime soon?"

"Sure. Call me whenever you have the time. And don't worry so much, Bella."

I sighed once again. "Bye."

"Bye, Bella," Angela said calmly, before the line went dead.

Feeling every nerve ending electrified, I hung up the phone and took a deep breath.

o

"Come in."

I tried my best to appear confident and reassured as I opened the milky glass door of Victoria's office, my heart racing wildly.

"Hello, Bella," Victoria said in her sweet, soft voice as I closed the door behind me, standing in the elegant, a bit too sterile office without really knowing what to do. "Have a seat."

As I made my way to the leather seat across from Victoria's desk, I tried to make out her intentions as inconspicuously as I could. But no matter how hard I tried, this woman had always been and would always be a riddle to me.

Everything about her was contradicting. Her fragile, thin body and pale, innocent skin was such a contrast to her fiery, almost violently red hair. The soft, enchanting and almost childlike sound of her voice was surprising. Her elegant, gracious, cat-like movements were mixed with an occasional warm smile. There was a sadistic edge to her fierce and determined personality.

The leather seat was cold and scarcely used. Victoria never wanted to meet clients in her office. I always considered the reasons for that to be her privacy. No one really knew who this woman was; where she came from, if she was married or had children. She let absolutely no one in.

She smiled at me, but still I knew that I could not rely on this polite gesture. She might as well be torturing me in this moment.

"Did Jessica tell you why you are here?" she asked, her fingers folded and resting immobile on her dark, wooden desk. Had her red hair not been piercing my eyesight, the stark contrast between her pale skin – so much paler than mine – and the dark wood might have reminded me of Snow White.

"No," I answered, trying not to make my discomfort all too obvious.

Victoria laughed, the sound as clear as bells and yet far from innocent. "That suits her. She's been keeping it a secret for a little while now."

I was getting confused. There was nothing I could make up in my head that Jessica Stanley would not be announcing to the entire world. To be honest, up until now I had been unsure whether or not she was even aware of the word _secret_.

"Isabella, you've done great work over the last two years. Jessica and I are both very thankful for everything you have done."

My stomach started to twist even more and I was starting to be afraid that I would have to vomit. This sounded bad. Really bad.

"We both feel very confident in offering you something more than you have now, although it will only be temporarily. But, who knows what chances that might bring for you."

My mind was racing, the office around me blurring.

"I'm sorry. I don't think I understand what you mean," I said with a trembling voice.

"I want you to take over Jessica's position. For a little while," Victoria finally explained clearly, straightening her shoulders a bit more.

"I… why?" I asked, confused. This was the last scenario my mind had come up with.

"Jessica is pregnant, Isabella. She's been keeping it a secret for the last three months, but now it's time to start looking for a replacement for her once she has to leave. We both agreed that looking for someone new is much too complicated and inefficient. So, I want to promote you until Jessica is ready to work again."

I stared ahead blankly for a minute, letting the sticky sweet words sink in.

"What do you say, Isabella?"

I felt myself shuddering, goose bumps erupting on the small of my back, and sweat drenching my palms, before I finally regained control over myself.

"Ehm, yeah. Of course. That's great news. I would be honoured."

Victoria clapped her small hands, smiling triumphantly. I had a vague suspicion that she was the only one who had really considered me as a proper replacement for Jessica.

"Fantastic. Well, it will be a couple months more before Jessica is scheduled to leave, but it's best if she soon starts to, well, explain things to you," Victoria said, raising herself from her chair with a gracious movement.

I mimicked her, although I knew I probably just looked like a clumsy girl, eager to get away.

"I'm sure you will do a fantastic job," Victoria told me, reaching out her hand. I shook it, feeling how thin and fragile her fingers really were. It seemed queer that her hand did not give in under the weight of the huge, golden ring she was wearing.

"Thank you," I answered politely, before carefully stepping around the leather chair and making my way back to the milky door and the silver pen and yellow post-its on my desk.

* * *

I'm really sory this took me so long too update. First, it took me a while to write and then there were some beta complications, otherwise I would have updated this chapter last week. But here it is :D

School is being very stressy, so don't expect an update every other week. But I will continue, of course. It just might take a little while now and then. But I'm really looking forward to write the next 3 chapters. be prepared for a lot of cuteness. That should make up for the fact that there was no Jake in this chapter.


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